Illusions
by willowaus
Summary: An unusual case causes for a reevaluation of the current status quo. Case File GSR COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**Summary: **An unusual case causes for a reevaluation of the current status quo. Case File/ GSR**  
A/N:** I want to thank Rouch for all of her help on making this story what it is and CSI4nsicAce for helping me with all that is grammatical.

**Spoilers: **Season 5, up to King Baby

**Disclaimer: **I do not own CSI. I am willing to buy the rights to them, but I don't think they'll accept 2.87.

**_Chapter One_**

Thirty minutes.

That was all that stood between her and the end of shift. Half an hour and she would be free to go back to her apartment; having successfully avoided seeing Ecklie for the third day in a row. Her plan was to reward herself with a nice long bubble bath.

The vehicle hit a bump, reminding her it was actually thirty minutes and a DB that separated her from her master plan. The call had come in an hour before the shift was over, and for some reason she had been compelled to take the case.

So, instead, Sara Sidle sat in the passenger seat of a LVPD Tahoe, on her way to a 419 out in Blue Diamond. Casting a glance at the man driving, she wished even more that she was on her way to her apartment instead of being with her current partner. There had been a time when she never would have thought that. She looked forward to, and cherished every chance she had to work with him. Those feelings were lost years ago. Sometimes, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Gil Grissom was an enigma Sara was beginning to think she would never unravel. Once upon a time, she had been given a key to the mystery that embodied him. They had been friends. When she moved to this tourist trap it seemed that they slowly had begun the journey to something more intimate. Then, everything had changed. He had become cold and distant. They became nothing more than colleagues. She rarely worked with him, and remembered times when they only spoke when he was giving out assignments.

It had torn her apart.

Then, just as suddenly, their relationship changed again. She wasn't sure why or how, but nothing was the same. It wasn't back to the way they used to be; however, they weren't simply colleagues either. She was unsure what to label this new stage of their relationship.

Sara grimaced as she donned her sunglasses. The sun was beginning to rise and all hope of her bubble bath was beginning to disappear with the darkness. In the distance she spotted a police car and an ambulance in the desert. "Griss," she said, and pointed towards the parked vehicles.

She bit her lip as he maneuvered the SUV off the paved highway and onto the uneven terrain. "Who found the body?" she asked as the Tahoe jostled the two.

"The KLAS helicopter. They were getting ready for morning rush hour," Grissom replied as he parked.

Sara nodded. Leaving the air conditioned car, she stifled a groan as she felt the desert temperature begin to rise. _Three minutes past sunrise and the temperature is already rising._ _Welcome to __Nevada._ She smiled to herself as she retrieved her kit from the back, and then followed Grissom over to the deputy who was getting out of his car.

"Paramedics pronounced her dead and no one has been near her since. There's no I.D. on her," the deputy said as he motioned beyond the police car. "Coroners on his way."

Sara looked in the direction the deputy pointed; her eyes widened as she took in the scene. A white sheet lay on the desert ground. Long, spiraled, red candles in silver candlesticks were positioned at each corner of the sheet. In the middle of the sheet was a naked woman. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her feet were crossed at the ankles. The chestnut brown hair was splayed behind her head, giving her an almost angelic appearance. Sara noted the white flowers spread across the sheet and the body.

"She looks like she's sleeping," Sara whispered to no one in particular as she retrieved a pair of latex gloves from her kit and put them on.

"The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures," Grissom began, slightly startling her.

She smiled at him. Quoting was always a good sign when working with Grissom. "Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil," Sara said, continuing the quote he had started. "Shakespeare's Macbeth."

"Very good," Grissom said offering a smile of his own.

The two of them slowly made their way toward the scene. Sara set her kit down and retrieved the camera. "Her wrists have been slit," Grissom said, stopping before the sheet.

"There's no blood," Sara remarked as she captured the images before her. "Posed?"

"It appears so," Grissom pointed towards the right half of sheet. "Single set of visible footprints."

"Could be the paramedics," Sara said as she snapped a picture of them. "Do you want me to?"

Grissom shook his head. "Photograph. I'll find out what the paramedics touched and where they went."

Sara nodded and continued. She squatted near the closest candle. Some kind of fiber was attached to the bottom of the candlestick. Quickly taking a photograph, Sara retrieved tweezers and an evidence bag from her vest and removed the fiber and placed it in the bag. Sensing Grissom's presence behind her, she lifted the bag over her head. "It was attached to the candlestick."

"The paramedic walked across the sheet and checked for a pulse at the victim's neck, upon finding none, he left the way he came in," Grissom said.

Sara nodded. "Leave the candlesticks?"

"They seem to be all that's keeping the sheet from moving."

A voice interrupted her thought process, "Dr. Grissom. Sara."

Sara turned slightly and smiled at David. She turned back to her task as the coroner's assistant made his way over to the two of them. She slowly made her way past the second candlestick, careful to keep her distance from the sheet. A smile spread across her face.

"No emergency vehicles have been on this side of the sheet, right?" Sara looked over her shoulder.

Grissom stopped what he was doing and shook his head. "What have you got?"

"Tire tracks." She turned back and began snapping pictures of them. She began to follow the tracks, tracking their path. The first few feet showed the tracks moving away from the sheet, further into the desert, and then they veered off towards the highway. She turned and retraced her steps. "So, someone drives up here, sets up this….display, gets back in the car, backs up and drives away?"

"According to David, she's been dead about three hours," Grissom said.

Sara nodded and watched him squat over the body. "No signs of insects," Grissom continued.

"None? There would be some if she was out here for three hours. Shouldn't there?" Sara asked.

"I would expect to see some blowflies, especially since there are open wounds," Grissom replied. "Tweezers?"

She extracted her tweezers from a vest pocket and handed them to him. Sara watched him extract something from the victim's mouth. "A lily?" she asked. "Made out of Paper?"

"No. Some kind of fabric. Perhaps silk," Grissom said and placed it inside a bag. "A lily in her mouth. Lilies spread across her body."

"Did she kill herself… and then someone placed her out here? Though why go to the trouble of setting up this elaborate display?" Sara asked, looking at the woman. Her eyes moved to the woman's wrists. "One cut on each wrist, straight down along the vein. There are no hesitation marks."

"Not everyone hesitates," Grissom reminded her.

"She couldn't have cut herself out here or we'd have found blood," Sara concluded as she looked for any drop around the victim's body. "There's no visible blood on her or on the sheet."

She turned and removed the ALS from her kit. She slowly moved the light across the sheet and over the woman. "No blood. So, no blood but her wrists are slit. And no insects, which most likely would have been if she had been here for three hours. So, how long was she out here?"

"I think we'll have a better idea once we know the cause of death," Grissom said.

"I'll bag the lilies. We might get lucky and find some fingerprints."

Grissom nodded and handed her tweezers back to her. Sara accepted the tweezers and began collecting the flowers, all thoughts of a bubble bath far from her mind.

* * *

Grissom placed the last bag of evidence in the back of the Tahoe. David had left with the body three hours ago, and Grissom dismissed the officer shortly after. "Ready?" he called without turning around.

He heard Sara coming and waited for her to place her kit in. Today had almost reminded him of old times. Almost, but not quite. He watched Sara get into the passenger seat. At some point during the investigation she had put her hair up in a ponytail. She used to look impossibly young when she wore her hair that way. She still looked young, too young, but her eyes were telling him another story. They revealed someone who had endured more than many people. He closed the door and made his way to the driver's side.

Turning the ignition on, he glanced at her before pulling out. She was fidgety, her whole body awake with energy. A few hours ago, on their way here, she had seemed tired, but now there was a new case. Grissom knew that right now, she was contemplating a million scenarios about why the woman was where she was. In her mind pieces of this new puzzle were being jostled around and placed together. She was a brilliant CSI; Ecklie be damned.

Grissom's knuckles tightened their grip on the wheel as his thoughts turned to the current Assistant Director of CSI. He didn't know exactly what Sara had said to Ecklie when he had taken her into his office, but if the rumors that erupted throughout CSI were true it was a pretty clear how Ecklie had excelled to his current position. Sara probably hadn't said the most politically correct thing, but then, Sara had never adhered to the politics. Another way she was becoming like him for Grissom to add to his list.

"I'll bring the evidence to trace and then meet you at the morgue?" Sara asked bringing him away from his thoughts.

"No," Grissom said. He watched some of her enthusiasm dissipate and knew he had spoken too abruptly. "We'll bring the evidence to trace and then we're done. The morgue was backed up this evening, Sara. I doubt they were able to clear out all of those bodies in the last four hours. They aren't going to get to our Jane Doe until probably this evening. And the rest of the evidence can wait until shift starts again."

She opened her mouth to speak and then seemed to think better of it. Grissom glanced at the clock. "It's 10:18. We'll probably get back to the lab by eleven. That'll give you exactly eleven hours before you need to be back for the start of shift," Grissom continued.

"I suppose I could use that time to sleep," Sara said wryly.

"I hear that's helpful," Grissom smirked.

A comfortable silence engulfed the car as he drove down the highway. In the distance, the desert was disappearing and signs of civilization were beginning to bloom. He watched Sara shift in her seat again and wondered if she would be able to calm down enough to sleep. It had been a few weeks since the incident with Ecklie and her revelation about her past to him. She seemed fine when she came back to work. She actually looked refreshed and was at the top of her game. Maybe she was beginning to work through some of her issues. Grissom hoped she was.

"How is everything?" he asked, silently cursing his tongue for breaking the comfortable silence. He could feel her gaze on him, but he had to keep his eyes on the road now that they were not the only car occupying it.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He should have known she wouldn't answer the question easily. "I…" he said, stopping to formulate what he wanted to say.

"I'm fine, Grissom," she said, relieving him of having to complete his thoughts.

Grissom frowned. He hated when she did that. "Have you given any thought to seeing a counselor again?"

He heard her little sigh and knew this wasn't going to be an easy conversation. "Yeah," Sara answered.

He cast a quick look at her. She was looking out the window. Was she going to elaborate her answer? Or was she now answering monosyllabically?

"I've seen counselors. They don't help. I'm fine." She finally answered with an air of futility.

Grissom took in her words and didn't agree with them. By all appearances she seemed fine now, but something in the back of his mind was telling him that she really wasn't.

"Listen, Grissom, really, I am fine. That… incident with Ecklie and Catherine, it won't happen again. There were just a lot of things going on in my mind. I just need to work on keeping my professional stuff away from my personal stuff," Sara said. "I suppose I should have listened when you said I needed to have a diversion."

"Oh?" This was intriguing.

"Yeah. I started working at the woman's center on Tuesdays," Sara said.

Another work related diversion. He wondered if she still listened to the scanner. Though, he hadn't remembered seeing it when he was at her apartment. Grissom groaned inside his mind. "What do you do?" he asked.

He saw her stare at him, a look of _you really want to know?_ plastered on her face. "What ever is needed. I listen," Sara said. "And I let them know their rights and what they can do. Lately, they've had me working with the kids. Which is weird because me and kids are not a great combination."

"You do fine with kids," Grissom said.

"Grissom, I'm terrible with kids," Sara rolled her eyes. "All they really need is someone in the room with the kids, when their moms are talking with other workers. They say it's so the kids won't get traumatized from all that their parents say. They don't realize that the kids already are."

Pulling into the crime lab's parking lot, Grissom struggled for something to say, but as usual when dealing with Sara, the words never came. He watched her unbuckle her seatbelt and open the door. "Sara…"

He watched her hesitate and turn to look at him. Grissom opened his mouth to speak but he still couldn't seem to formulate his thoughts into words. He watched her give him a forced smile before she closed the door. He silently cursed himself as he unbuckled and then helped her retrieve the evidence.


	2. Chapter Two

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**Summary: **An unusual case causes for a reevaluation of the current status quo. Case File/ GSR**  
A/N:** I want to thank Rouch for all of her help on making this story what it is and CSI4nsicAce for helping me with all that is grammatical.

**Spoilers: **Season 5, up to King Baby

**Disclaimer: **I do not own CSI. I wish I did. But I don't.

**_Chapter Two_**

"I really hate that guy."

Sara looked up from the lilies and followed Greg's line of vision to the hallway. Ecklie was making his rounds through the crime lab. She turned back to Greg and smiled. "You won't get any opposition from me," she said before turning her attention back to the lilies.

"_Spathiphyllum Gioant_," Greg said.

Sara looked up questioningly. "The Peace Lily. _Spathiphyllum Gioant_. My mom loves these. There not as popular as the _Lilium longiforum_ this time of year, but flower shops sell a lot of them around now. My mom is obsessed with lilies. I used to help her garden and she would…sorry…" Greg rattled off.

"Lilium longiforum?" Sara asked.

"The Easter lily. And since Easter is next week, lilies are a real commodity for flower shops right now," Greg said and leaned against the table. "What are you doing?"

"Evidence from the 419 Grissom and I had in the desert this morning. I'm hoping I can find some prints on these," Sara said.

"You know we aren't on for another three hours, right?" Greg asked.

"Hey, I came in because Chris in Ballistics has a mint condition first issue of the Amazing Spider-ma—need any help?" Greg asked interrupting himself and slipped on gloves. "Are we looking for Latent prints?"

Sara nodded. The two of them stared at the lilies spread across the table. Each was contemplating the best way to determine if there were any prints to be found without destroying the evidence.

"Superglue," they said at the same time.

Sara smiled at Greg. "Probably the safest bet. Help me bring them to the chamber?"

"Like you have to ask," Greg said and began carefully collecting the lilies and placing them back in the bag.

"What are you doing Wednesday, Sara?" Greg asked as he followed her to the print lab. He watched her fumble for a second and took pity on her. "Nick, Warrick and I are getting together to play poker. You want in? After shift, at Nick's place."

"You're going to play poker? Against Warrick?" Sara smiled. "Are you mad?"

"Nick and I have been practicing. We figured out a system. Warrick won't win this time," Greg said as he placed the evidence bags down. "You want in?"

"I might come just to see Warrick mop the floor with you two," Sara retrieved a handful of the lilies and placed them in the plastic container. She placed a few drops of superglue on the hot plate and closed the lid.

"Well, if you're just watching you can play waitress," Greg said. "Or not," he added quickly.

Sara shook her head in amusement. "No prints on any of these," she said lifting the lid.

"How many did you collect?" Greg asked.

"Seventy-five."

"You should come though, Sara, really," Greg said. "They miss you."

"I miss them too," Sara whispered. "Okay, count me in. Wednesday, after shift. Wait, won't that cut into their sleep time?"

"Well, we can't do it before our shift, because they're at work. And we can't do it after their shift, because we're at work. So it made sense to do it after ours," Greg answered. "Though, Nick did say that we shouldn't be surprised if he was just wearing boxers."

Greg smiled as he heard Sara laugh. He hadn't heard that sound in a long time. Too long. "Hey, maybe we could all wear pajamas! People would pay a pretty penny to see you in a nightgown!" Greg said and jumped away before Sara made contact. "Not the ribs! Not the ribs!"

They shared a moment, enjoying the companionship that had grown between them.

"Hey, there's Chris. Gotta go see a man about a comic," Greg said and quickly retreated, leaving a laughing Sara Sidle behind.

* * *

Gil Grissom walked through the hallway unaware of those around him. While maneuvering the quickest way possible to his office, he looked through the stack of his messages. Placing the small pieces of paper on top of the pile of paper work that demanded his attention, he removed his jacket, hung it on the chair and sat. There were two hours before the start of shift, and he needed to sign off on the papers before Ecklie decided to grace him with his presence.

Looking at the stack in front of him, not for the first time, he wondered if he really desired being nightshift supervisor. Was he really as useful in this capacity as he had been as a regular CSI? Wouldn't he get more done without the non-ending piles of paperwork and forms that continually graced his desk? Without the responsibility of supervisor would he be able to become involved in other areas of interest?

A gentle knock at his doorframe forced him to look up. "There were no prints on the lilies," Sara said as she sat down in one of the chairs. "Hodges is still analyzing the fiber we found."

"I remember seeing you drive away. Did you just drive around the block and come back?" Grissom placed the pen down.

"I went home. I even managed a few hours of sleep. Then, I came back," Sara said, smiling. "What? I didn't feel like hanging out in my apartment and watching TV." As he continued stare, she added, "Greg's here too."

Grissom scratched his beard in amusement.

"I saw that you came in and thought I'd tell you the status of the case so far. You should be proud that I haven't been to the morgue yet to pester David on our Jane Doe's status," Sara said.

"I'm sure you thought about it," Grissom said.

"I think about a lot of things. Doesn't mean I always go through with them," Sara said.

Grissom watched a flash of sadness cross her eyes before disappearing. "But, I guess I'll leave you to your mountain of paperwork," Sara said and began to rise. "I believe I have a date with a set of tire impressions."

Grissom nodded. "Sara," he said as she reached the doorway. "Rescue me in an hour and we'll see what David has for us."

"Sure thing, Griss," she smiled.

Grissom watched her leave and looked back at the paperwork before him. '_Is this really worth it?'_ He wondered as he began signing away at the forms.

* * *

"…and you're sad. And you're sorry," Sara sang as she scanned the picture of the tire impressions. "Let it all out. What are you running for…." She typed in the measurements of the tracks. "This is your chance. Be ready…"

_Click._ And now there was nothing to do but wait for the computer to find a match. She leaned back in the chair and watched the screen fluctuate as the computer searched. Blinking, she stood up and walked away from the machine. There was no use watching the screen, unless she wanted to aggravate her eyes. She rolled her neck in an attempt to relieve the tension.

"Are you trying for CSI of the year?"

Sara turned and saw Sofia Curtis standing in the doorway. "Huh?" Sara pursed her lips, unsure of the woman's meaning.

"We aren't on for more than an hour," Sofia said.

"What is it with everyone commenting on my being here early?" Sara asked. "You realize you're also here early."

"But I'm not working," Sofia pointed to the computer. "My car is in the shop. So it was either come now, or be late. And I have no desire to interact with Ecklie, so I came early."

"Understandable," Sara said.

"I take it that the whole team is here?" Sofia sat in the other seat.

"Greg is around here somewhere dealing with something to do with a comic book and Grissom is going over paper work," Sara said and turned her attention back to the computer.

_Beep._ "You have a match," Sofia rose. "I think I'll go and rescue Gil from the paperwork."

_You do that_, Sara thought bitterly. "Okay," was all she voiced.

She finally allowed the sigh to escape her mouth when Sofia left the room. _So much for going to the morgue together,_ she thought wryly as she hit print. Sara watched the information print.

_'Personal and Professional—separate. Personal and Professional—separate'_

She continued to repeat her mantra as she read over the printout. Her beeper brought her back to the present. '_Hodges.'_

"I'm taking my seat. Oooooo Ooooo. Lucky me…" Sara continued to sing.

* * *

"It's Vicuna." Hodges handed her the print out.

"Which is?" Sara asked.

Hodges motioned to the computer screen. "Vicuna. Usually mistaken for alpacas or llamas, but they are not. Apparently it is the finest wool available and one of the most expensive. And this particular piece hasn't been treated with any dyes," he replied and showed her a webpage of the animal. "That's not uncommon. But the wool is used to make all kinds of items. Clothes, blankets, teddy bears."

"Okay," Sara said. "Any local stores pop up in your search?"

"No," Hodges said. "Mostly available online or seen in fashion shows."

Sara nodded. "Thanks."

"And the silk flower. Common type of silk flower given out this time of year. Especially the style," Hodges handed her another handout. "It's _Lilium longiforum._ Otherwise known as the"

"Easter lily," Sara finished.

"Precisely."

"Thanks, Hodges," Sara said as she left trace.

'No prints on the lilies. Yokohama tires. Avid T4 style. Vicuna wool found at the scene and an ordinary silk lily in the victims mouth.' So far the evidence from the crime scene was not helping point in the direction needed to find the… 'thewhat? Killer? Accomplice?' As of this moment, Sara had no idea if the woman had committed suicide and then been placed in the desert by a devastated loved one, or if this was something more sinister.

'Morgue it is.' She gave a quick glance behind her at Grissom's doorway. As Sofia's laughter echoed down the corridor, Sara steadfastly made her way to the morgue.

* * *

"You're here about the body in the desert?" Doctor Robbins asked and motioned to one of the autopsy tables.

Sara walked over to the table and looked down at the Jane Doe. "What can you tell me?"

"Both cuts to her wrists lacerated the ulnar artery," Robbins said and motioned above the arms.

"Suicide?" Sara asked.

"I thought so, but because of the circumstances and the location where she was found, I wanted to know if there were any drugs in her system. I sent a sample of her stomach contents and her blood to toxicology," Robbins showed Sara a bottle of brown liquid. "She had more than the fifteen times the recommended dose of Xanax in her system. There's no way she could have held a knife let alone sliced through her arms with such brutal precision."

Sara's brain started processing the information.

"I don't know if she was conscious during her attack. Depending on the person, she could have been at the time of the incisions. I don't know how she reacted to the Xanax," Robbins said, "however, she would have lost consciousness after losing a third of her circulating blood volume. Someone drugged this young woman, cut her, and then watched her bleed to death."

Sara shook her head in empathy for the young woman.

"I didn't find any trace of blood or fibers on her body." He handed Sara the stomach contents.

"You think she was washed?" she asked.

Robbins nodded. "It's possible. The cuts were precise. Whoever did this knew exactly where to cut to create the most damage."

"There are no distinguishing characteristics to help identify her. Maybe you'll have better luck with AFIS." Robbins handed her a fingerprint card.

Her beeper halted any further conversation. 'Grissom'

"Thanks, Doc," Sara said and left the morgue. She removed her gloves and threw them in the nearest receptacle. Glancing at her watch she groaned as she read the time. 'Crap. Late for assignments.'


	3. Chapter Three

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Ah, Rouch, where would I be without you? Thanks so much for all your help. And go read her story with Teenwitch. It's amazing. And thanks to CSI4nsicAce for all those grammatical things. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. You all are too kind.

**Disclaimer: **I checked my mailbox but still have not received any statement saying I own CSI. :(

**_Chapter Three_**

Gil Grissom frowned as he reentered his office. Sara was never late for assignments. Greg and Sofia had both acknowledged seeing her in the last few hours, and Grissom, himself, had seen her; he knew she was in the building. He waited for her for five minutes before handing out assignments. When she still had not shown, he had dismissed Sofia and Greg to their work, and then set out to look for her. After investigating, he came to the only conclusion he could: She was not in the lab.

He was giving her another five minutes before he put out an APB on her.

"I am so sorry." She was out of breath, and she was trying to compose herself.

Grissom looked up and was unsure if he was relieved or angry at the sight before him. Sara stood in his office doorway, clutching a couple of readouts in her hands. "I got carried away with the case. The tires, and then Hodges paged me, and then I talked with Dr. Robbins--"

"I thought we were going to the coroner together?" Grissom interrupted, startled at this turn of events.

He watched her mouth twitch. "I…Sofia said she needed to talk with you. I didn't want to disturb the two of you," she said.

"Next time, come and find me. I'll make the time." Grissom watched her. Her eye contact was anywhere but on him.

"I just got our Jane Doe's print card," Sara said in an attempt to change the subject. "I'm going to go run it through AFIS, unless you need me anywhere else."

Grissom rose. "I'll come with you," he said as he made his way to the door. "You can tell me exactly what we know so far."

He motioned for Sara to proceed. She hesitated for a second before exiting the room first. The two silently walked through the hallway.

"Dr. Grissom?" They both stopped and turned. Judy was walking towards them. "I'm sorry, sir, but Ecklie has been bugging me all day for the requisition forms," Judy said.

Grissom turned to Sara. "I'll meet you in the lab."

He then turned and motioned for Judy to follow him to his office. Grissom quickly found the forms hidden among the piles of paperwork on his desk, signed his name, and handed them off. He left his office and headed for the print lab.

The shout of his name stopped him again, and he turned to see Mia motioning for him. He entered the DNA lab, giving her a questioning look "The results are in on the Strinker case. DNA is not a match to the husband," Mia said as she handed him a report.

Grissom nodded and left the room. He removed his cell phone and made a quick call to Detective Vartann to let him know that the only suspect they had on that case no longer was a viable option. He entered the Print Lab just as he was hanging up. He watched Sara scan the finger print card into the system.

She turned to look at him as the computer began to search for a match through AFIS. "There were no prints on any of the flowers I collected," Sara began. "Hodges determined that the fiber I found was vicuna. It's expensive and he couldn't locate any local shops that carry it. The tire tracks I found are manufactured by Yokohama. They're Avid T4 style. We're looking for a 2001 Honda Civic LX." Grissom nodded as he sat in a chair beside her.

"Dr. Robbins sent a sample of her blood and stomach contents to toxicology. She had Xanax in her system," Sara continued.

"She wouldn't have been very successful holding a knife," Grissom remarked.

Sara nodded and turned her attention to the computer screen. AFIS had found a match. "Kimberly Witt," Sara said. "She was a teacher."

Grissom read the information. "I'll contact Brass."

Sara listened to his conversation as she printed the information out. She clicked out of AFIS and opened the missing person's directory. She typed in the victims name and waited.

"Brass will meet us at the victim's address," Grissom said as he hung up the phone.

"She's not in missing persons," Sara said as the search ended. "If she's a teacher, wouldn't the school notice if she hadn't been in?"

"Good question," Grissom said.

"I'm driving," she said when he failed to elaborate.

"Of course," Grissom replied, slightly amused.

His cell phone rang as the two left the print lab. "Grissom," he answered. Grissom listened to the caller and frowned. "Do not let anyone touch the body. Take as many pictures as you can. Tell them not to turn on any lights; I don't want them to scare any of the insects away. I'll be there in twenty."

He turned to Sara. "Sofia's body has insects. Apparently, that fact slipped the reporting officer's mind," Grissom said.

"I'll let you know what I find," she said. "Have fun," she added, with a touch of bitterness.

Grissom watched her leave and wondered when everything had gotten so complicated between the two of them. Although, really, when had things ever not been complicated where Sara was concerned? He pushed those thoughts to the side, telling himself that he would have time later to dwell on them. Right now, he needed to focus on work.

* * *

Jim Brass stood in the parking lot, and nodded to Sara Sidle as the Tahoe pulled into the lot. "Where's Gil?"

"Sofia called," she replied as she opened the truck, "her case has bugs."

Brass raised an eyebrow at the tension in her voice and filed it away to ask her about it later. He waited for Sara to collect her kit and then the two walked over to the manager's door together; Brass knocked and waited for a response. "This should be fun," Brass groaned, knocked again, and readied himself for an angry answer. Most people didn't take kindly to being awoken at this hour.

The door opened to reveal an elderly woman scowling at them. "What?" the woman growled.

Brass flashed his badge. "Ms. Stevens? I'm Captain Jim Brass. This is Sara Sidle from the crime lab," he said and produced a warrant from his jacket. "We need access to Apartment 234."

The woman rolled her eyes. "One second," she mumbled and closed the door.

A few seconds later, Ms. Stevens exited her apartment with a jacket on and a set of maintenance keys in her hand. Brass motioned for the other officer to follow them.

"Kimberly and Tyler are out of town. I'm not expecting Kimberly back for another week, and Tyler shouldn't be home for a few more days," Ms. Stevens said. "Are they in any trouble?"

"Kimberly Witt was found dead last night," Brass stated.

Ms. Stevens stopped abruptly and turned around. "But she's in Baltimore. She left on Saturday to visit her parents," she said. "She's such a sweet girl. A teacher. Who would do this?"

"I don't know, ma'am," Brass said, "that's what we're trying to figure out."

"You mentioned Tyler. Did Kimberly live with anyone?" Sara asked.

"Yes, TylerCuneo, her fiancé. They're getting, well, they were supposed to get married in June," Ms. Stevens said. "Has anyone told Tyler? He'll be devastated."

"Do you know Tyler's cell phone number?" Brass asked.

"No, but he works at the same school as Kimberly. He coaches basketball," Ms. Stevens said. "He's out of town with his team. They're in the tri-state finals."

"Thank you, Ms. Stevens," Brass said and motioned to the door.

Ms. Stevens unlocked the door and then walked away. "We're going to need to talk to Mr. Cuneo," Sara said.

"I was planning on dropping by the school in the morning," Brass said.

Sara nodded. "Don't," she said as the officer reached for the door handle. "We don't know how Kimberly ended up where she did. For all we know she could have been abducted from this apartment."

She placed her kit on the sidewalk and removed fingerprint powder and a brush. She carefully brushed the knob and revealed two prints. She removed the digital camera from her kit and took pictures of the evidence before lifting the prints.

"I'm going to need to get the landlady's fingerprints when we're done," Sara said and nodded to the officer.

He opened the door and immediately placed his hand on his weapon. "Signs of a disturbance, Captain Brass," he said.

"You, stay out here," Brass said to Sara as he removed his weapon. "We'll call you in after we clear the area."

"Hug the walls!" Sara yelled not sure what had lead to the officer's concern.

"We've done this before, Sara," Brass said and entered the apartment.

Sara rolled her eyes and closed her kit. '_And yet, so many of you still manage to damage the crime scene,_' she thought as she leaned against the apartment complex wall. A few minutes later, Brass and the officer reappeared.

"All clear," Brass said. "I'll keep Officer Pierce outside the door. I'm going to see what else Ms. Stevens can tell us."

Sara nodded. As she entered the apartment, she saw what had set Pierce on edge. A tall lamp lay across the floor of the entryway and shards of glass were scattered around it. Sara placed her kit down and removed a stack of evidence markers and the camera. She took pictures of the scene before proceeding further into the apartment.

"It's going to be a long night," she said to herself as she looked at the chaos in the living room.

* * *

Two hours later, she was finally finished with the living room. Sara wiped the sweat from her forehead. There had been some sort of a struggle in the room. The living room telephone had been ripped from the wall. A flower vase had been knocked to the floor and shattered on impact. The lamp had fallen over and broken its glass cover. There were gouges in floor with epithelial cells embedded in them, and she discovered three distinct shoe prints left in the carpet. She lifted every print that she found, and she had taken five rolls of film.

Sara moved towards the kitchen. She looked around the kitchen and saw a litter box and two dishes on the floor. '_She has a cat, but where is it?_' The refrigerator door held a variety of teacher appreciation magnets, two pictures of the victim and a young man, a photograph of a black cat, a Chinese take-out menu, and a message pad. Sara took a picture of the message pad before removing it from the door.

"7pm-Vet. 5am-cab," she read and then placed the pad into an evidence bag. "She must have taken the cat to the vet."

The refrigerator contained cat food, butter, and a carton of baking soda. '_No perishables. It appears as though she was getting ready to leave town for awhile_,' Sara thought as she closed the door.

A voice interrupted her thought process, "Hey, Sara."

She turned to see Greg standing at the edge of the kitchen, kit in his hands. "Grissom sent me. He's tied up with processing bugs." Greg looked around. "Where do you want me?"

"I was just about to check the bedroom," Sara answered.

Sara walked to the threshold of the room with Greg close behind her. "She was going somewhere," Greg remarked and pointed to the open suitcase on the bed.

"The manager said she was going to visit her parents." Sara entered the room. "It doesn't look like she got very far packing."

The closet doors were open and piles of clothes were neatly stacked on the bed. Underwear was all that had made it into the suitcase. Greg started to take photos. Sara walked around the bed. On top of the bedside table was a plane ticket.

"She had an eight a.m. flight to BWI on Saturday," Sara said. "She was supposed to arrive at the airport at five in the afternoon."

"Why didn't her parents report her missing?" Greg asked.

Sara shrugged and turned her attention to the bedside phone/answering machine combo. The light was blinking. She pushed play. "You have two new messages," the automated voice said, "Friday, nine pm."

"Hey, Kimmy, I guess you're in the shower. Anyway, have fun seeing your parents, and don't forget to get me a box of salt water taffy," a woman said.

"End of message. Saturday, five am," the automated voice said.

"Your cab's here," a man's voice said. There was a slight pause. "I'm waiting five minutes lady."

"End of message. You have no more messages."

Sara removed and bagged the tape. "Well, she never made it to the cab," Greg said.

Sara nodded and opened the bathroom door. There were no visible signs of blood. She removed the ALS from her kit and swept the room. "No blood," she sighed, "She wasn't killed here."

"She was getting ready to leave. Her cat's not here and she had a note about going to the vet. Her cat might be there," Sara said, talking through the events. "She was packing. There's no sign of a forced entry, but there's a sign of struggle."

"You think she might have let the guy in?" Greg asked.

"Probably," Sara said. "So, either she knew the person, or it looked like someone she didn't need to fear." She noticed Greg's questioning gaze and elaborated, "Like a repair man. Knocks on the door, says he needs to fix something, she lets him in. They struggle. He takes her."

Sara sighed and left the room. She walked out the apartment and spotted Brass. "Anything?"

"According to the landlady, Kimberly and Tyler are a very nice couple. Young, in love," Brass said. "Never heard them fight. I talked to the neighbors. No one is currently in the apartment on the right. An Alison Lehman is renting the apartment on the left, but she's been out of town on business for the last few days. Just got back in last night."

"No one saw or heard anything?" Sara said.

"I'm going to keep interviewing, but it doesn't look promising," Brass said.

Sara nodded. "Greg and I are going to finish processing the apartment, then pack up, and get back to the lab," Sara said. "Let me know when you're going to the school."

"Do you even have any overtime left?" Brass teased.

Sara smiled and waved him off. "Just call me."


	4. Chapter Four

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Ah, Rouch, where would I be without you? Thanks so much for all your help. And go read her story with Teenwitch. It's amazing. And thanks to CSI4nsicAce for all those grammatical things. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. You all are too kind.

**Disclaimer: **I checked my mailbox but still have not received any statement saying I own CSI. :(

**_Chapter Four_**

Grissom moved the specimen to the microscope. He placed the ruler by the insect and read the measurement. '_9mm._' He recorded the finding in his notebook and pinned the insect onto the board. He carefully removed another one of the insects he had collected from an evidence jar. He smirked at the brown liquid. He had stopped on his way to the crime scene to pick up coffee. It was one of the cheapest ways to preserve the insects.

'_8mm_.' He recorded the new measurement and pinned the insect to the board. He gave a sideways glance to Sofia, who sat in one of the other chairs. She was studying the different jars.

"The victim's body was beginning to lose rigidity. So, most likely he was dead for at least thirty hours, but less than forty-eight," she said. "How long does this process take? Grissom?"

Grissom wrinkled his brow in confusion. He didn't like being interrupted. "Yes?"

"How long does this process take?" Sofia repeated.

"I have to wait until the insects mature," Grissom said and looked back at the microscope.

"We already know he died between thirty and forty-eight hours ago because of his stage of rigor. Can't the bugs tell you anything more definitive now?" Sofia asked.

"No," Grissom said.

Sofia picked up one of the jars that contained moving insects. "You can't simply look at the bugs now, and identify what stage they are at?"

"I know what stage these guys are at," Grissom said, "but I have to take into account different variables, and I need to know how long it takes for the others to reach maturation."

She gently shook the jar.

"Please put those down." He gave her a sharp look. He turned back to the microscope and continued recording data.

Grissom heard her leave and let out a soft sigh of relief. He needed to be able to concentrate in order to accurately record the data. He removed another insect and placed it under the microscope.

A knock interrupted him.

He turned towards the doorway and quickly wiped the scowl from his face. "You wanted to be kept informed," Sara said.

He beckoned her in. "What do you see?" he asked and moved away from the telescope.

Sara entered the room and looked through the microscope. "8 mm. Second instar larva," she said and looked up at him. "Where was he found?"

"Inside his house," Grissom said and removed the bug.

"It would have taken awhile for the insects to get to the body," Sara said. "Did you check the temperature read outs?"

"They're being sent to me," Grissom said with a smile. "You've been reading."

"When I can't sleep, I read," Sara shrugged. She moved from the microscope and leaned against the table. "There were signs of a struggle at Kimberly Witt's apartment. No sign of blood. It looks like she was packing to go somewhere, but was interrupted."

"Break in?" Grissom asked.

Sara shook her head. "I found some finger and shoe prints. Greg's running them." She drummed her fingers on the desk. "I feel like I only have half the puzzle."

"Stop, take a coffee break, and refocus," Grissom said.

"Ugh," Sara said. "I checked the coffee. I think it's the same stuff that's been there all week." She looked at him. "Need any help?"

He handed her the notebook and pen. "You can record."

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. Grissom looked back at the microscope and grinned.

* * *

Sara Sidle looked down at the row of measurements and quickly calculated the mean length of larvae in her head. "9mm," she told Grissom. She grinned at his startled look, and added, "Physics major, remember? I'm fast at math."

She handed the notebook to him and watched him jot down some notes. "So, we know the average length of the larvae found. Now what?" she asked.

Enthusiasm radiated off of her. One thing she had never been able to turn down was a learning experience. She loved to gain access to new information. It was probably her greatest strength and greatest weakness at the same time. Her thirst for knowledge helped her excel in classes, and in her job as a CSI. However, it also had her embarking on excursions she wouldn't normally try if she had been in a normal state of mind. Ken Fuller was an example of a way her desire to learn new things could be a bad thing.

Sara's lips twisted in a thoughtful expression. Ken Fuller had been an experiment on being normal. She had tried very hard that year to fit into the normal trappings of college. She drank too much, partied too much, and entered in a relationship with Ken. She had pretended that she was not an ex-foster care child, that she wasn't a nerd, and that she was simply your normal, average Harvard undergraduate. After that year, she had decided that she didn't like being normal. She couldn't keep up with the lies; pretending to be happy was a lot harder than finding things that actually made her happy. She had transferred from Harvard to Berkley for many reasons. A fresh start had been one of the most important. That and she had missed the West Coast.

She broke out of her reverie and listened to Grissom discussing the process in mid-sentence. "…after that we'll need to look at the fluctuating temperatures over the last few days, in order to help determine how fast or slow the insects were able to develop," Grissom said and stood up.

Sara watched him move to the mini-fridge the team, well the old team, had bought him for Christmas two years ago. "_Now you'll have no excuse to leave your experiments in the community fridge_," Catherine had joked. Sara had a sneaking suspicion that Grissom kept more than his experiments in the fridge. She had seen him remove a chocolate grasshopper or two from it on more than one occasion.

He stopped abruptly and turned to look at her. His face was a mask of worry. "What?" Sara asked, unsure if she really wanted to know. Who knew what could be growing in there.

"I need to feed the larvae," Grissom stated.

Sara looked at him curiously, confused as to why this was a problem. Then, it dawned on her. _Meat. The bugs eat meat_. She smiled brightly. He was worried she'd be offended. "Its okay, Griss. Feed the bugs," Sara said. "Just don't expect me to touch it."

Relief seemed to sweep over Grissom and he produced a pack of ground beef. Sara cringed slightly at the pack of dead cow. "How often do you need to feed them?" Sara asked and picked up one of the specimen jars.

"I have to make sure they have a steady source of food," Grissom said and added pieces of beef to the jars with live specimens. "If they were still on the body, they would have free access to it."

"They'd also be eaten by predators," Sara pointed out.

Grissom nodded. "It is the natural state of life. Though, I guess you wouldn't understand that, since you are a vegetarian," Grissom said and smirked.

"Hey, that's entirely _your_ fault," Sara replied.

"How exactly is your becoming a vegetarian my fault?" Grissom asked and returned the left over beef to the fridge.

"Kay Shelton's case," Sara replied. "_Your_ bugs said three days. Though, it was actually five. We sat out and observed the pig."

Sara smiled and lost herself in the memory of that experiment. It had been a couple of cold, December nights watching the process to get the information they had needed. Greg interrupted further trips through her memories. "Sara!"

Grissom and Sara both turned to see an excited Greg Sanders in the doorway. "You have a match?" She asked.

Greg nodded. "The fingerprint on the inside door handle came up as an unknown, but it matched an unknown in a currently unsolved homicide in Pahrump," Greg said and handed the printout to Sara.

"I looked up the case file," he continued. "Two weeks ago, March 14, a woman's body was found in the desert. She was nude, covered in lilies, posed on a linen sheet with four candles on the corners. They never released the use of lilies or candles to the press."

"According to Dr. Robbins she died from loss of blood. She had Xanax in her system, and wouldn't have been able to cut herself. Whoever did cut her knew exactly where to cut," Sara informed him.

Greg handed the report to Sara. Sara studied the report carefully before handing it over to Grissom. "Do you think we're dealing with a serial?" Greg asked.

"There has to be at least three to designate the label of serial," Grissom said.

"Yeah, but the likelihood that it's a simple coincidence is slim," Sara said. "It's gotta be the same guy, but do we have two isolated incidents, or is this a serial killer that's just getting started?"

"I'll contact the Nye county department and have them send over their reports," Grissom said and placed the file on his desk. "Maybe we can find a common denominator between the victims."

Greg and Sara nodded. "I'm going to get back to the evidence we collected," Greg said and left the room.

Sara watched him leave before turning to Grissom. "I'm going to see what I can learn about Kimberly Witt," Sara said and stood.

"Keep me informed," Grissom said.

Sara nodded. "Sara?" he asked as she reached the doorway.

She turned back. He struggled with something to say. "Thanks for helping me with the bugs," he said.

"Anytime," Sara replied and left the room, wishing he would finally be able to tell her what was on his mind.

* * *

Two hours later, Grissom found Sara in front of a computer looking over the credit history of Kimberly Witt. "…the girl I left behind me, you said she wouldn't do," Sara softly sang. "I know who I want to be, I want to be worthy of you. So why do I change myself to be worthy of you…"

Grissom frowned as he listened to the lyrics. She had a cup of tea in her left hand; her right hand was on the mouse. Two empty cups sat by the computer. It reminded him of the Pamela Adler case, and he did not like the comparison.

"Sara?" he said, loud enough so she would hear him but soft enough so not to scare her.

She turned around and looked at him. "Shift ended thirty minutes ago," he stated.

Sara rolled her eyes at him and turned back to the screen. "I'm almost done," she said.

"It can wait," Grissom responded and sat beside her.

He watched her lips twitch. It was a reflex of hers that let others know she was annoyed. "It's just thirty minutes," Sara said and took a sip of her tea.

"You and I both know it's not going to be 'just thirty minutes'," Grissom said.

She purposefully chose not to answer and continued to read the screen. Grissom let out a sigh. "Sara, you need to go home," Grissom stated.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly. He could almost see the wheels in her head turning as she tried to figure out what to say. He waited a minute and when she failed to answer, he continued, "Sara, remember the talk we had about diversions?"

Sara's head snapped around to face him. "I found a diversion," she stated.

Grissom raised his eyebrows and nodded for her to continue. "Turns out he didn't think I was worth the risk," she said and quickly stood. "I'm going home."

Grissom sat in the chair and processed the words she had spoken as he watched her leave.


	5. Chapter Five

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks to all for reviewing and my wonderful betas Rouch, for all her help in making this coherent, and CSI4nsicAce, for all things grammatical.

**Disclaimer: **I checked my mailbox but still have not received any statement saying I own CSI. :(

**_Chapter Five_**

Sara Sidle was mad. Mad at the world. Mad at herself. And mad at Gil Grissom. She clutched the steering wheel and cursed as she glanced down. She was gripping the wheel so hard that her knuckles were white. Spotting a parking lot, she pulled off the road, parked, and turned off the ignition.

She wanted to scream, to shout, to hit something, anything that would help her release some of the frustration she was feeling. Instead, she released her grip on the wheel and closed her eyes. She had promised herself that she wouldn't allow herself to get this worked up about him anymore. That time in her life was over.

She was stronger than this. She had survived much worse than this heartache. This was _nothing_, and yet, at times it felt like everything. Sara took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She could feel the tension slowly begin to leave her shoulders as she opened her eyes.

The phone rang and Sara quickly checked the caller id. _Brass._ "Sidle," she answered.

"I'm going to the high school in an hour," Brass stated abruptly.

"I'll meet you there," Sara said.

"Are you sure I shouldn't clear this with your boss?" Brass asked.

She could hear the playful lilt to his voice, but couldn't contain her answer, "I could care less what his answer is."

There was a brief silence before Brass responded, "Sara…"

Sara closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm fine."

She could almost hear Brass nodding his head. "Look, I'll meet you in an hour," Sara cut him off before he could respond. "I have to go."

She hung up the phone and looked at the keys in the ignition. The school wasn't that far away. She would be able to make it in ten minutes if traffic was good. Sara removed the keys, grabbed her purse, and left the vehicle. She quickly locked the car and made her way to the coffee shop across the street, while repeating '_I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine_.' Just maybe, if she said it enough, it would come true.

* * *

Jim Brass stood beside his police car and observed the cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. Years of being a police officer had taught him that observation was the key to learning almost anything about people. By simply watching someone, a door to a mountain of information could be unlocked. A young woman behind the wheel of an SUV was trying to apply make-up while driving. On the back window were smeared fingerprints. Most likely, she was a young mother. 

Brass surveyed the school parking lot again and watched as Sara Sidle pulled in. She exited the car, her posture tight, and her expression guarded. He briefly wondered what his friend had said or done to put Sara in this mood.

He watched her briefly look around before spotting him. She quickly walked over to him and nodded in greeting. "The principal is expecting us," Brass said as the two made their way to the high school. "A Mrs. Marjorie Fales."

"What did you tell her?" Sara asked.

"I informed her of Kimberly Witt's death and told her we had a few questions we needed answered in person," Brass explained.

He and Sara entered the building and made their way to the front office. Three students sat in the front room in various stages of boredom. "May I help you?" the woman at the front desk asked.

Brass removed his badge from his inside coat pocket and saw that Sara had her identification on display on her belt. "Captain Jim Brass. This is Sara Sidle with the crime lab. We are here to see Marjorie Fales," he said.

The young woman looked dumbfounded for a moment before answering, "Let me inform her of your presence."

Brass nodded and looked towards the students. All three were sitting upright, striving to hear any information they could. No doubt news of the police presence in the school would circulate within an hour.

"Captain Brass."

He turned and saw a tall woman standing in the office doorway. She walked forward and shook his hand. "Marjorie Fales," she said and turned to Sara.

"Sara Sidle. Crime lab," Sara said and shook the woman's hand.

"This way please," Mrs. Fales said and motioned for the two to follow her.

Brass and Sara entered the office and sat in the two seats in front of the desk. The office was decorated with different awards and degrees that had been awarded to Mrs. Fales. Pictures of the woman with various Vegas 'celebrities' cluttered the woman's desk.

"Are you sure it was Kimberly's body that was found?" Mrs. Fales asked as she sat with a twinge of hope showing on her face.

Brass left that question to Sara. "Her fingerprints were a match," Sara stated.

"Such a pity," Mrs. Fales said. Her eyes roamed to the clock on her desk.

Brass waited for further elaboration but when none was given, he asked, "Do you know what Kimberly's travel plans were?"

"She took off this week to see her parents. Her mother has been sick the last couple of weeks, and Kimberly wanted to surprise her," Mrs. Fales said. "I don't believe they even knew she was coming."

"Do you have their phone number on file?" Brass asked. She nodded. "We'll need a copy."

"Kimberly was sharing an apartment with Tyler Cuneo," Sara said. "He is also a teacher at this school?"

Mrs. Fales nodded. "Yes, they were getting married in June," Mrs. Fales said. "Tyler has been away in San Francisco since Thursday. The tri-state tournament was taking place there this year. He is due back Wednesday night."

"We'll also need the phone number for where he is staying," Brass stated.

"Of course," Mrs. Fales said, checking the clock once again. "Is that all you needed?"

"I need a copy of the itinerary for Mr. Cuneo's basketball team, and when they get back I will need copies of all receipts," Brass said.

"Glinda can get you a copy of all that you need," Mrs. Fales said and stood up. "If that's all…"

"For now," Brass returned and stood.

Mrs. Fales nodded and showed the two to the door. "Interesting lady," Brass remarked as the door closed behind them.

Sara shrugged and walked to the secretary's desk. "Hi, I need a copy of Tyler Cuneo and Kimberly Witt's records, as well as a copy of the basketball team's itinerary," Sara said and quickly flashed her identification.

The woman nodded and quickly found the documents. Within five minutes, Brass and Sara were on their way out of the high school. "Well that was fun," Sara said. "I'll see you tonight."

"You're not going back into work?" Brass asked.

"I don't want to justify the overtime to Ecklie," Sara stated.

Something in her posture told him that that wasn't the reason. "Hey, Sara?" Brass called as she reached her car. She turned and looked at him. "Are you alright?"

"As good as can be expected," Sara said and flashed him a smile.

Brass watched her leave before getting into his own vehicle. At some point he was going to have to talk to her. He sighed and drove off.

* * *

Numb. Dumbfounded. Speechless. All were excellent words to describe how Gil Grissom felt at this moment. He unlocked the door to his townhouse and cringed at what lay before him. Nothing. His walls were covered with hanging butterflies to add a dab of color to his sterile environment, but there was no warmth, no life in this place. He placed his bags and paperwork on the table and massaged his temples. He could feel the workings of a headache beginning to form and hoped it wouldn't become a full-blown migraine. 

Perhaps the word that would truly describe the way he felt was lost. He turned on the stereo and sank onto the compact couch as the first stanza of _Carmen_ began to play. He closed his eyes and groaned. The headache was becoming a migraine.

Slowly he rose and retrieved a bottle of water and a pill from the refrigerator before sinking onto the couch again. He looked around his living area and felt the despair that he had been feeling since his encounter with Sara begin to increase. The event replayed itself over and over in his mind.

'_I found a diversion. Turns out he didn't think I was worth the risk,_' her words echoed over and over in his mind. Her facial expressions had spoken even more than her words. Her mouth had been twisted in anger, but her eyes had shown flashes of deep pain.

_Worth the risk._Why had she used that particular phrase? It reminded him of another phrase, one he had said. But she couldn't possibly have been referring to that, could she? He pinched his nose. Only she was able to have this effect on him.

Sara Sidle, the ultimate enigma.

He turned his head and looked at the coffee table. Forensic journals and entomology journals were stacked on one side, and a ladybug figurine was positioned on the other. He looked around at the walls and the entertainment center. Insects, insects and more insects. No pictures, no drawings, no life.

He vaguely remembered Catherine's house and the multiple pictures and drawings by Lindsey that were displayed. Her house had a warmth, a sense of living, which his never had. '_It's like walking into the morgue,_' Catherine had once told him. '_Everything is so pristine_.'

He stood up and walked over to a butterfly display on the wall. At one time, he remembered thinking they were beautiful. At this moment in time, they reminded him of Debbie Marlin - and of Sara.

'_This is my life,_' Grissom thought as he traced the images of the Monarch butterfly in the glass. '_Captured beauty_.' In one swift swoop, he flung the display to the floor. Shards of glass and colorful wings scattered across the floor at his feet.

Images of Sara rose to his mind. The carefree smile she had flashed at him when she arrived that first day in Vegas. Her intense curiosity during the seminar where they had met. The look she gave him when he had called her in on the Todd Branson case. Her expression when he had rejected her offer of dinner. Her reaction to his explanation to his recommendation of Nick for the promotion. The look of utter resignation when he picked her up from the DUI. The day she told him about her past. Her eyes filled with pain as she uttered the words 'Turns out he didn't think I was worth the risk'.

'_Doctor Lurie killed Debbie. And slowly I'm killing Sara._' Grissom looked down at the broken wings. '_Something needs to change…_'


	6. Chapter Six

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks to all for reviewing and my wonderful betas Rouch, for all her help in making this coherent, and CSI4nsicAce, for all things grammatical.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Six_**

Greg Sanders was on top of the world. At the end of shift, the game was on. Nick and he had been playing poker online, against each other, and had even used their nights off over the last few weeks to try out their luck at a few of the lesser known casinos. '_Warrick Brown is going down_,' he thought with a chuckle.

Greg smiled to himself and parked his car in his usual spot. He was a few minutes early, and planned on finding Warrick to taunt him, setting him on edge a bit. There was nothing like getting under someone's skin. He grabbed his Starbucks and locked the car.

Looking around the parking lot, his eyes' widened with excitement. "Sara!" he yelled and trotted over to her.

She turned around and looked questioningly at him. "Are you ready?" Greg asked nudging her shoulder with his.

"Huh?" She looked very perplexed. He could see her struggling to figure out what he was talking about.

Taking pity on her, he answered, "After shift… poker with the guys… remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Sara said and pushed the doors open.

"You are still coming, right?" Greg asked. He didn't like the lack of enthusiasm in her tone.

"Of course," Sara reassured him. "I wouldn't want to miss Warrick wiping the floor with you and Nick."

"Hey!" Greg said. "That is _not_ going to happen."

"_Sure_ it isn't," Sara said as the two entered the locker room.

"You, Sara Sidle, shall be surprised," Greg stated.

Sara laughed. "We'll see, Greggo. We'll see."

Greg scowled as she walked to the door. "Come on, Greg, assignments await us," Sara said.

"What? Are you afraid of going alone?" Greg joked as he followed her into the hallway.

Her step faltered. "Hey, Sar, I was kidding," Greg said. "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Sara stated and flashed him a brief smile.

Greg took a sip from his macchiato and frowned. The two entered the break room and took seats at the table. Sara began to lightly strum her fingers on the table. Greg took another sip and studied her. '_She seems tense_,' Greg thought.

Sara turned towards the coffee pot and looked like she was deeply contemplating something. She stood up and walked to the coffee maker. "I wouldn't trust that stuff," Greg warned. "You and I both know how well Nick, Warrick and Catherine make coffee. You might get some weird disease from it."

Sara shook her head in amusement, putting the pot back on the burner.

Greg poured half of the liquid into the mug and handed it back. "Ah, there's nothing like the taste of caramel to get you moving," he said as she sat back down.

Sara grinned and sipped the liquid. A comfortable silence fell between the two as they drank.

"Hello, Greg. Sara," Sofia said as she entered the room.

Greg and Sara nodded to the blonde as she took a seat. "I heard your case might be a serial," Sofia said looking at Sara.

Sara was looking at the mug. Greg gently kicked her under the table. She looked startled. "What?" she asked and shot Greg a dirty look.

"Sofia wanted to know about the case," Greg said and motioned towards their newest team member.

"Sorry. Lost in thought," Sara apologized.

Greg listened to Sara relay the case information. She looked at the clock every couple of seconds, her body becoming more rigid, and her fingers tapped against the mug, steadily increasing in tempo as the seconds closed in on ten o'clock. Greg bit his lip as he contemplated her posture.

Grissom entered the room and Sara stopped talking. Her incessant tapping stopped and she had a death grip on the mug. "Greg, you and Sofia have a burglary," Grissom stated and handed him a slip of information.

"Sara, NyeCounty sent over the case file," Grissom said and handed a thick file to her. "Let me know what you find."

With that said, Grissom left the room. "Coming, Greg?" Sofia asked and removed the slip from his hand.

"Right behind you," Greg said.

He watched Sara. She was staring at the file in her hands, a crooked smile on her face. She looked up at him. "Have fun," she said and rose.

"Hey, Sara…" Greg said. "I'll find you at the end of shift. 'Kay?"

"Sure thing," she said, already reading the case file as she walked, and left the room.

Greg's lips twisted in disconcertment. Something was definitely up.

"Greg!" Sofia's yell echoed through the hallway.

Greg sighed and went to find Sofia

* * *

It had been a little over four hours since assignments. Four hours full of painstakingly reading over the Nye County CSI, coroner and police officer's reports. The words were beginning to blur. So far, nothing about the two victims' was similar besides their appearance. Kimberly Witt was not a local. The NyeCounty victim, Angie Moore was a local. Kimberly Witt was a high school English teacher. Angie Moore was a waitress at a local restaurant in Pahrump. Kimberly Witt was thirty years old and was engaged. Angie Moore would have turned thirty-six in two months and was single.

Sara rubbed her temples to relieve some of the pressure that was building up. She would need to go over the credit reports of both women to see if they had frequented the same places in the last few months. She removed the crime scene photographs and began to look through.

The display was identical. A white sheet with the body posed in the middle with white lilies spread across it. Four candles were on the corners. And each arm had a deep cut in the middle of it. Both women had traces of Xanax in their systems. And each of them had a lily in their mouths.

_'Why were these two women chosen?'_ she wondered as she continued to flip through the photographs.

"What do you have?"

Sara looked up to see Grissom walking towards the evidence room table. "The crime scenes are identical," Sara said and passed the photos. "Same brand of candle, same cotton white sheet, and a paper lily in the mouth. All of which you could find at the local department store. There was the same amount of lilies found on each victim. I'm still working on a list of local florists that carry the Peace Lily to discuss recent sales."

She handed the NyeCounty report over. "No trace evidence was found at the scene," Sara informed him. "No fingerprints. No blood. The coroner ruled the death a homicide. She died in the same manner as Kimberly Witt."

"Any common denominator between the women?" Grissom asked and placed the photos on top of the report.

"Besides the women being brunette and in their thirties?" Sara asked. "Brass is getting their credit reports for me. So I'll look at those for anything."

Sara blinked rapidly as she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to readjust her eyes. "Take a break," Grissom said. "Let's go to the diner and get a cup of coffee. It'll help rejuvenate you."

Sara shook her head. "No thanks," she shrugged. "Greg's secret stash of Blue Hawaiian is in his locker. He gave me the combination."

Her smile at him faltered when she looked up. He had a very perplexed look on his face. Her cell phone rang, interrupting any chance that she had to question him. "Sidle," she answered.

She listened carefully. "Thanks, Brass," she said and ended the call. "Brass faxed the credit reports to Judy."

She rose. "I'll let you know if I find anything useful," Sara said and left the room.

Sara stopped and looked back at the Evidence Room. _'Let's go to the diner and get a cup of coffee?'_ She replayed his question over in her head. _'Did he just ask me ou--no…he didn't…did he?'_ She watched him rise, but she quickly continued her course before he saw her. She shook her head in confusion. Now wasn't the time to contemplate the significance of his request. There'd be plenty of time for that later when she tried to fall asleep.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks for all of your kind reviews. And a special thank you to Rouch for helping to keep this story moving along and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Seven_**

Insects were perfect. Gil Grissom had learned that fact at an early age. They lived their life in order, completing the necessary steps to get to each stage. They did what was necessary for their survival without emotion.

Picking up the evidence jar, he rolled that thought around in his mind. _'A life without emotion._' In some ways, life would be easier. One would never know the pain and sorrow of heartache or loss. Jealousy and anger would never cloud one's judgment, but at the same time, one would never know the joys of love or the thrill of excitement. He recorded the latest stage of development in his book and placed the jar back in its place.

She had said no.

He frowned and picked up another jar. He was confused and worried. He had come into work that evening with the purpose of patching things up between the two of them. He remembered a time when they had been able to talk easily, a time when she had felt comfortable in his presence and he in hers. A cup of coffee had seemed like an easy way to help bridge that gap. Easy. He should have known it would never have worked.

Insecurity had seeped into him after her easy let down. He had sought sanctuary in his office, carefully cataloging the insects from Sofia's case. This was normal. Bugs he understood. This he knew how to handle. The situation with Sara was something he never knew how to handle. Sometimes, he had a feeling that he never would.

He recalled what he had said to Sara years ago. '_I don't know what to do about this.' _He still had no idea what to do about this. However, he did know that what he had been doing for the past year and a half was not working. Her reply echoed over and over in his mind. _'I do. __You know, by the time you figure it out, you really could be too late.'_

Grissom placed the last jar back and closed the book. He was done for the time being. He looked down at the paperwork and scowled angrily as he thought of taking a crack at it. Normally, he would have done everything in his power to escape doing it, but at this point in time, paperwork seemed to be the safe option.

His eyes roamed to the clock. Fifteen minutes until the end of shift. He looked back at the paperwork and then stood. Screw safety. Grissom left his office and made a beeline towards the Layout Room. He walked in and saw Sara sitting at the table, her back to him, her cell phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she talked and flipped through something.

He waited at the threshold of the room, not wanting to startle her as she finished her call. "Thanks, Brass," she said.

She flipped the cell phone shut and placed it on the table before quickly scribbling something. "Update?" Grissom asked and stepped into the room.

He stood beside her, his arms centimeters from hers. "I looked through their credit histories. Nada," Sara said and handed him the papers. "Then, I decided to take a look at their bank records. Both women were members of the Nevada Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, or SPCA. They sent in checks monthly to help with different causes."

"So, I took a look at Katherine's date book," Sara said and pointed to the blue book in front of her. "The first Monday of every month, she went to the Las Vegas chapter's meeting at the Marriot. I called Nye County. They confirmed that Angie Moore also went to these meetings."

Grissom looked at the information Sara provided. "We may have a connection," he said and smiled at her.

His smile broadened as she reciprocated. "I called Brass. He's going to get a warrant for the members' list and information on who has been in attendance over the last six months," Sara said.

Grissom nodded his approval. "Good job," he stated and handed the information back to her.

Sara looked down at her watch and cringed. She started to carefully place the evidence back into the appropriate bags. Grissom watched her, startled to see that she was cleaning up on time. Usually, she would have continued to pour over the evidence until she was kicked out.

"Plans?" he asked, silently cursing his tongue for talking.

Sara looked at him, confusion evident on her face. "Hmm…oh, yeah," she said and turned back to the evidence.

Grissom frowned slightly. He felt his breath quicken and his chest constrict slightly. He was saved from asking anything further when Greg burst into the room. "Are you ready, Sara?" Greg asked, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I cannot wait to beat Warrick! I will be a rich man next shift."

"I'll be right out, Greg," Sara said and placed the bags into their box.

Greg nodded at this and turned to leave. "Meet you at the car?" he asked.

With a confirmation from Sara, he turned and headed down the hallway, shouting, "Show me the money!"

Grissom watched Sara turn, the box in her hands. "Poker with the guys?" he asked and placed a bag in that had fallen out.

"What did you expect?" she asked, walking towards the doorway. "A hot date?"

"Any man would be lucky to have you," Grissom said.

"Yeah, they would," Sara shot back, her face a fury of emotion.

Grissom watched her leave, wondering if the words she had uttered to him years ago were true._ 'Am I too late?'_

* * *

She wasn't in the mood to be social. She wanted nothing more than to go back to her apartment, turn on some Sarah Slean, and soak in a bubble bath for at least an hour. She scowled when she realized that she never got the bath that she had wanted so dearly before her case first came in, but she had promised Greg that she would join in the poker match. Sara Sidle didn't break promises. She knew firsthand how much it hurt when someone did.

Leaving the crime lab the Las Vegas sun was already burning brightly and quickly donned her sunglasses. The harsh morning sun reeked havoc with her sore eyes. Sarah spotted Greg waiting by his car and couldn't help smiling at him. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands tucked in his jacket pocket, and trying very hard to look patient.

His eyes lit up as he saw her. "Ready for one wild morning?" Greg asked, radiating an overpowering enthusiasm.

Sara shook her head at his excitement and made her way to the passenger's side. As she buckled herself in, Greg asked, "Did you bring enough money or do we need to stop off at a bank?"

"I have all that I'm willing to spend," Sara replied.

"Then, my lady, we are off," Greg said and turned the key.

The engine roared to life, punk rock filling the car. Greg hastily turned the volume down. "Sorry, I like to jam before coming to work."

"Not a problem," Sara said. "Did we need to bring anything?"

Greg shook his head. "No," he answered. "War and Nick were getting the supplies together since we're coming off work."

Sara nodded and leaned back in the seat. She watched Greg bob his head slightly to the music, his fingers tapping the rhythm on the steering wheel. She smiled and turned her attention out the window. The citizens of Las Vegas were on their way to work. She watched business people quickly walking down the streets and tourists meandering through the city, stopping and pointing out different attractions. She wondered what fate would befall the old man and woman wearing matching '_I Love Vegas!_' shirts. Would they die of old age? Cancer? Would they be found dead in an alley later this evening, their wallets empty, victims of a robbery?

Sara shook her head. She could leave work, but work never seemed to be able to leave her. Sara saw Nick's apartment complex come into view. "You sure you want to do this?" Greg asked, breaking the tentative silence.

Sara looked over at him and nodded. "Yep," she answered, hoping her tone was light and happy.

Greg nodded and pulled into the parking lot. "Now remember," he said as the two walked towards Nick's. "We are here to beat Warrick. We will hold nothing back in our pursuit of this most noblest of quests."

"It's just a poker game, Greg," Sara remarked, slightly amused.

"Just a poker game?" Greg asked astonished. "_Just_ a poker game? Oh, Sara, how little you know…_this_ is an exercise in--"

"—_me_ winning all their hard earned money!" Warrick Brown interrupted from behind them.

Sara turned to see Warrick strolling up the walkway, carrying a twenty-four pack of beer. "Hey, girl," he said and gave her a quick hug. "It's good to see you."

Sara smiled at him as they made their way to Nick's apartment. She knocked on the door. "Ready to watch me whip these boys?" Warrick asked and playfully glared at Greg.

"As long as I'm not playing waitress," Sara replied as the door opened.

"Spoil all my fun!" Nick Stokes pouted from his doorway.

"Ah, man, cowboy pajamas? What are you, five?" Warrick groaned as he maneuvered his way into the apartment.

"At least I'm wearing pajamas like we agreed," Nick retorted and gave Sara a hug. "I missed you."

'_I missed you too, Nicky,_' she thought as she reciprocated the hug.

"Well I don't own any pajamas," Warrick replied.

"TMI!" Greg yelled as he plopped down on one of the living room's couches.

Sara released Nick, who gave her a concerned look. She flashed a smile at him, glad she only had to put a little effort into it. "What did you get to eat, Nick?" Warrick asked, as he passed out a beer to each of the participants.

"Stuff to make sandwiches, chips, pretzels," Nick replied.

"Hey, little lady," Greg said as he opened his beer. "Care to get me a sandwich?"

Sara whacked him with a pillow. "Oh fine, I'll get my own," Greg said and stood up.

"Grab the chips while you're at it!" Warrick yelled.

"And I'll take a sandwich!" Nick joined in.

"I'll take some pretzels," Sara said.

Greg gave them all a look before disappearing into the kitchen. "It's nice to see that some things never change," Nick remarked.

'Yeah it is,' Sara thought. She watched Nick remove a poker set from his entertainment center. "You trust Nick to use unmarked cards," Sara asked Warrick.

"Ouch, Sara," Nick said and pretended to pout.

"Nah," Warrick said. "Doesn't really matter if he did. I'll still win."

Sara shook her head in amusement.

"Oh, Greg and I will win," Nick replied. "We have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

"Winning isn't everything, but wanting to win is," Sara stated. Off of their looks she added, "Vince Lombardi."

"Well, hello, Grissom," Nick said and laughed. "Are we going to have two walking books of quotations now?"

Sara shrugged. '_Why did he have to bring Grissom up?'_ she inwardly groaned. An awkward silence filled the room, none of them sure on how to break it. "Okay, guys, let's play poker!" Greg announced as he entered the room, his arms piled high with food.

His hilarious appearance filled the room with laughter and broke the tension. "My lady," Greg said and handed her a bowl of pretzels. "Mmm, pretzels and beer, the breakfast of champions!"

Sara rolled her eyes at him and made herself more comfortable on the couch. "Chips!" Greg said and threw the bag at Warrick.

"Thanks, man," Warrick said and easily caught it.

"Don't even think about it," Nick warned Greg as he eyed the two sandwiches.

Greg passed the plate to Nick and took his seat by Sara. "Let the games begin!"


	8. Chapter Eight

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks for all of your kind reviews. And a special thank you to Rouch for help with the poker lingo and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Eight_**

"No way!" Nick Stokes shouted and threw his cards on the table. "I can't believe you had two aces! Ugh, beaten by two aces!"

Sara Sidle's smile grew as she swept the chips towards her. "What can I say; I feel lucky, and you should never chase an inside straight," she replied.

"Lucky, huh?" Warrick asked, amusement evident in his voice. "I have a feeling there's more to this than simple luck."

Sara flashed him a brilliant smile. "No idea what you're hinting at," she said.

She looked over at Nick who was pouting and eyeing her pile of money enviously. "Oh, cheer up Nicky," she said and threw a chip at him.

"I don't want your pity," he mumbled and tossed the chip back at her.

"I thought the point of this endeavor was to beat Warrick!" Greg exclaimed between mouthfuls of his sandwich. "Where did you learn to play poker, Sara?"

"College," she stated. "Stop pouting and deal, Nicky."

Sara laughed as she watched Nick deal the cards. She was having fun and not because she and Warrick were the only two winning any hands. She missed Nick and Warrick and spending time with them. She missed the friendly jabs and jokes. She missed happy go-lucky Greg. She missed the sound of her own laugh, and this morning she was experiencing all of it. It was music to her senses.

"We need music!" Greg announced and made his way to the entertainment system.

"No!" the other three yelled simultaneously.

"What?" Greg asked, pretending to be offended. "Are you trying to tell me that you do not care for my taste in music? For shame!"

"You're small blind, Greggo," Nick said. "Sit down and look at your cards."

"What's the point?" Greg asked, sinking into the couch and throwing one chip into the pot. "I'm going to fold, and you'll keep upping the pot, and in the end, it'll be between Sara and Warrick, and since Sara won the last hand, my bet is on Warrick winning this one."

"Defeat doesn't look good on you," Sara said and picked up her two cards. _King and an eight._ "Raise ten dollars," she added.

Nick looked at his cards closely and then at the small pile of chips he had left. "Call." He knew he was going to regret the move, but he threw three chips in.

Greg looked at his cards again and raised his eyebrows. "Ooh, raise five dollars more," he said and threw in three chips.

"Great job on not showing emotion," Warrick said and threw in three chips.

Sara and Nick each placed a chip into the pile. "Pot's right," he stated and then turned over three cards in the middle.

_King and two eights on the flop_. "Ten dollars," Sara said.

"Raise to twenty!" Greg said enthusiastically.

'_Remind Greg to work on his poker face skills,_' Sara thought and shook her head.

"I fold," Warrick stated.

"Me too. Beer?" Nick asked.

"Raise to forty," Sara said and raised her hand in response to Nick.

"Call," Greg said, counting the appropriate number of chips and adding them to the pile.

Nick passed around the beers before placing another card in the middle. _Seven_. Sara used every bit of self control not to show any emotion. "Check," she said.

"Check," Greg said, tapping the table.

Nick placed one more card in the row. _King. 'Full house,_' Sara smiled, not quite believing that her eights over kings just turned into kings over eights. However, her sympathy for the overzealous friend next to her compelled her to check. Greg returned the check, and she moved to turn her cards over, but the ringing of her cell phone stopped her. Sara reached for her purse and removed the offending object. "Full house, Greggo," she said and laid down the cards. "Sidle."

She frowned as she heard Grissom's voice on the line. "I need you to come in," he stated.

"Why?" she asked as she stood and walked towards the kitchen. "I'm in the middle of kicking Greg and Nick's asses in poker."

"Ha ha, Sara," Nick yelled from the living room.

"We're letting you win!" Greg added.

"We have another body," Grissom answered.

Sara let out the breath she had been holding. "I—Greg drove me here. Can you pick me up? My car's at work," she said.

"I'm on my way," Grissom said and hung up.

Sara flipped the phone shut and made her way back into the living room. "You won," Greg said as he shuffled the deck. "I had two of a kind."

"Who was on the phone?" Warrick asked.

"Grissom," Sara said and began to count her chips. "He's coming to get me; I need to cash out. We have another body."

* * *

Sara could already feel the adrenaline beginning to course through her body. '_We have another body_.' That was what Grissom had said over the phone. She knew it must be related to the Kimberly Witt case, or dayshift would be handling it. Standing by Nick's window, she looked out at the parking lot, waiting to spot Grissom's Denali 

The poker game had broken up. The boys had turned on ESPN and were currently yelling at the television. Sara spotted the Denali and let go of the blinds. "He's here," she said and walked towards the door.

"No hug goodbye?" Nick joked and stood up.

Sara quickly hugged him and waved goodbye to Warrick and Greg. "Please tell me you're not letting him drive," she said worriedly as she regarded Greg.

"Nah, he can pass out on the couch," Nick said and opened the door. "It was good seeing you, Sar."

"You, too," she said and looked down at the Denali. "Duty calls."

Nick gave her a lopsided grin, and she started down the steps. She opened the car door. "Thanks," she said as she buckled herself in.

Grissom nodded. Sara leaned back in her seat. An uncomfortable silence enveloped the SUV. It seemed that neither of them wanted to be the first to talk. Sara watched the city begin to disappear as they merged onto the highway.

_Now or never._ "What exactly do we have?" she asked and looked at Grissom.

"Body out by Lake Mead. Young woman, with lilies covering her body, displayed on a blanket. Candles on the corners. Sound familiar?" he asked as he maneuvered them onto the first Lake Mead exit.

"Did I forget to mention that there are bugs?" Grissom asked innocently.

Sara smiled wryly. "That's why they called you?" she asked and donned her sunglasses.

"Well, I am the resident entomologist," Grissom replied. "I told the officers not to touch the body and that I'd be there as soon as I could. Then, he asked if he should leave the lilies where they were because the wind was beginning to move them around."

"Oh," Sara said.

Grissom nodded. "I had him describe the scene and informed him not to touch a thing. Then, I called you," Grissom said. "Brass is meeting us there."

"If it's the same guy, we're now dealing with a serial," Sara stated.

"I know," Grissom said and cringed.

Up ahead a channel 8 news van was parked on the side of the road. "Great," Grissom mumbled and let out a sigh.

Sara frowned as Grissom parked the car. If nothing else, it would be an eventful morning.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **You all are too kind. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. And as always, thanks to Rouch for all her help and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Nine_**

Grissom detested reporters. He knew they were useful to society and even to law enforcement on occasion, but they could also interfere in an investigation. Today was a case in point. Instead of simply proceeding to the crime scene as he had planned, he and Sara would need to deal with maneuvering around the news van, camera crew, and whichever reporter was covering this event. Most likely, he would need to say something to them. Unless…

He looked over at Sara. "Don't even think about it," she said and placed her hands up in the air. "You're the supervisor. You get to deal with the press."

She retrieved the kit from the car, and smiled at him. "And look, it's your favorite, Rebecca Hopkins," Sara continued with a twinkle in her eye.

"I could always _order_ you to talk with them," Grissom countered and retrieved his entomological equipment.

Sara glowered at him and closed the door. "Saved by Brass," she said and breathed a sigh of relief as she watched his car pull up.

The two watched Brass open his door and curse silently under his breath. "Just what we need!" he said and walked towards them. "Hardball Hopkins and her cronies."

"Do you mind dealing with them while we take care of the scene?" Grissom asked and guided Sara towards the waiting officer without waiting for a response.

"That was mean," Sara said, trying hard not to laugh at the situation.

"He's a big boy," Grissom replied with a shrug.

He looked at the officer and wondered how long the young man had been on the force. He looked a little green in the face and very apprehensive. "Officer," Grissom said in greeting.

"Thorne, Tim Thorne," the officer said. "My partner's back down the path with the body. We set the perimeter out here so the press couldn't get a look at the body."

The young man shook his head as if he were trying to get images out of his mind. "Bugs everywhere," he said. "Just go right down the path. You can't miss it."

"Why is everyone so disgusted by bugs on a body?" Grissom asked. "It's a natural state of decomposition."

"Not everyone can be a bug aficionado like you," Sara said.

Grissom smiled as he heard the lilt of amusement in her voice. The tension in the car ride seemed to have been temporarily misplaced. He hoped that it would stay that way, but was pretty sure this respite wouldn't last long. The two followed the path for a sixth of a mile before stumbling upon a small clearing in the trees.

An older officer greeted them at the edge of the clearing. David Phillips was kneeling over the body, completing his analysis. "No one has been near the body except for the coroner," the officer stated.

Grissom and Sara nodded and simultaneously put on latex gloves. "Wow," Sara said as they looked at the body.

The victim was positioned in the same manner as the other two, but her body was riddled with a variety of insects in various stages of development. "Rigor's complete," David said and looked up at them. "Lividity is set. Your bugs will need to do the talking, Dr. Grissom."

Grissom knelt over the body and surveyed the scene before him. "No flash, Sara," he stated.

"Don't want to scare any of these guys away," she said and turned the flash off on her camera.

Grissom carefully removed two jars. He poured coffee in one. As Sara began to photograph the scene, he began to carefully collect and preserve the different species he saw on the corpse. He immersed himself in the task, labeling the different jars and placing some of the larvae in the preservation jars.

An hour later, he turned to David and nodded. "You can take the body," he said and secured the last lid.

"Sara?" Grissom asked and looked in her direction.

She was collecting the lilies from the sheet. "I've got this covered, Griss," she said without looking up. "Go take care of the bugs."

"I'll get a ride with David," Grissom stated and set the Denali keys on top of the kit she was using.

She waved a hand in acquiescence before continuing her collection. "Find me when you get back to the lab," Grissom said. "And I don't care if I'm with the Queen of England, come and get me."

Sara looked up and nodded. "Promise," she answered.

Grissom followed David and the body, silently reeling from the flash of emotion he had seen in Sara's eyes. '_Maybe I'm not too late._'

* * *

Two hours after Grissom had left, Sara Sidle signed off on the last bag of evidence. She wiped the sweat from her brow and rolled her head to try and relieve the kinks. Officers Thorne and Kim gathered a group of bags and began heading towards the Denali. Sara clicked her kit shut, removed the keys from her pocket, and unlocked the car.

"CSI Sidle!" Rebecca Hopkins' voice vibrated through the park.

'_Why hasn't she left yet?_' Sara groaned and turned around. "Ms. Hopkins," she said and flashed a fake smile. "I really have to go. Evidence is time sensitive."

The reporter walked quickly over to her. "I have a couple of questions for you," Rebecca said. "Is this the same modus operandi as with the body found in the desert by the KLAS helicopter?"

"No comment," Sara said and opened the driver side door. "Thanks guys," she said and waved at the officers.

"Oh come on Sara," Rebecca huffed and grabbed hold of the car door, keeping Sara from closing it. "Do the women of Las Vegas have to fear for their lives?"

"No comment," Sara repeated and looked pointedly at Rebecca's hand.

"Sara, you don't have a couple of minutes to help ease the Vegas women's minds?" Rebecca asked, smiling serenely into the camera.

"Rebecca," Sara sighed. "Right now, I need to get this evidence back to the lab in order to determine what happened and who the perpetrator is. And I cannot do my job if you are holding onto my door."

Rebecca let go of the handle, and Sara closed the door, started the engine, and drove off. She glanced out the rearview mirror and cringed. It was never a good idea to be on Rebecca Hopkins' bad side, and right now the woman was glaring daggers at the Denali. Sara shrugged and maneuvered the Denali onto the highway.

As she drove, she began to replay the evidence in her mind. The sheet, candles, and flowers used at this crime scene appeared to be a match to the other two. Hodges would need to analyze them for a definitive match. The body was positioned in the same manner as the other two. Sara hoped that the victim's fingers had not been badly damaged and that they would be able to quickly identify the woman. She would need to wait for Grissom and his bugs to pinpoint a time of death. Sara had also located fibers similar to those in the Kimberly Witt case. Hodges would need to confirm that they were in fact Vicuna.

'_Which reminds me..._' Sara reached across the seat and pulled her phone out of her purse. She quickly dialed in the NyeCounty police department's phone number. "Hi, Philip Davis in Trace," she said.

The receptionist transferred the call. A few seconds later, Philip Davis was on the line. "Hey, Philip," Sara said. "It's Sara Sidle from the Vegas crime lab. Did you finish your analysis on the fibers found with Angie Moore's body?"

She listened to his report. "Vicuna," she said and smiled. "Thanks, Philip."

She hung up the phone and tossed it onto the seat beside her. Each victim had come into contact with a Vicuna product. Now, all she needed to do was find the source of the Vicuna and then they'd be closer to their suspect. '_I never said this job was easy,_' Sara thought as she took her exit.

Letting out a sigh of exasperation as she hit the midday traffic of downtown Las Vegas, she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel in growing agitation. '_Stop it,_' she warned herself. She turned on the stereo and blinked as classical music assaulted her senses; she turned the volume down.

Sara remembered listening to the particular piece in college. She frowned as she tried to remember the composer and the song. '_Vivaldi_,' she thought and smiled. '_His Four Seasons symphony. Spring_.' She leaned back in the seat and let the music soak into her. It was very relaxing. '_Maybe I'll ask Griss if I can borrow the CD for my bath,_' she thought and shook her head in amusement. '_I'm sure that would go over well_.'

Sara breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled into the crime lab parking lot. She parked the car, fished her cell phone from the seat, and autodialed Grissom's cell phone.

"Grissom," he answered.

"Hey, it's Sara," she replied. "I need help carting in this evidence."

"Are you listening to my CD?" he asked.

"It's soothing," Sara stated. "Are you coming to help me or not?"

"Be right out," Grissom informed her.

Sara heard him hang up and followed suit. She turned off the ignition, unlocked the trunk, and began removing evidence bags from the back.

"You just got back in, girl?" Warrick Brown asked from behind her.

Sara turned to see him walking towards her car and saw Nick Stokes pulling into the parking lot. "You guys are already back on?" she asked in disbelief. "How time flies."

Warrick shrugged and grabbed some of the evidence bags. "Greg's still asleep on my couch. You may want to call and wake his ass up in a few hours," Nick said as he grabbed the last two bags.

Sara shook her head in amusement. "Sorry, I wasn't much help in the 'most noble quest' as Greg called it," she said as they entered the lab.

Sara spotted Grissom walking down the hallway and called out to him. "Look who I found," she said as he joined them.

"Hey, Grissom," Nick said.

Warrick nodded at their former supervisor. Grissom nodded back. "How was poker?" he asked Warrick.

"Good game. Though, Ms. Sidle here gave me a run for my money," Warrick said and nudged Sara. "I didn't know you could play."

"I am a woman of mystery," Sara said as they entered the evidence room.

Nick and Warrick placed the bags on the counter. "We'll see you around. Have to go find the boss lady," Warrick said.

Nick gave a weak smile. "Don't forget to call Greggo, Sar," he said and followed Warrick out.

"Sorry, I didn't know the two of them were pulling in when I called," Sara said as she logged in the evidence. "How are the bugs?"

"Fine," Grissom said.

"Well, I guess I'll get the evidence to the different labs and then start processing what we have," Sara said as she wrote the last item in.

"No," Grissom said.

Sara looked up at him questioningly. "We've both been working since yesterday," Grissom began. She opened her mouth to refute him, when he added, "You were at poker for two hours, Sara, and I know you came in earlier than you were supposed to last shift."

He exited the room and left her with no choice but to follow. "What are you suggesting? I go home and meander around my apartment for a few hours before coming back?" Sara asked, her temper beginning to flare.

"No," Grissom stated and held the door open for her.

Sara reluctantly walked through it and waited for him to finish his thoughts. "Keys," he requested and held out his hand.

Sara handed him the Denali keys and watched him unlock the doors. She stood on the sidewalk, giving him a very peculiar look as he got in the car. '_Is he even going to tell me what's going on?_' she wondered vehemently.

"Please get in the car, Sara," Grissom said and closed the car door.

Sara half thought of refusing and walking to her car, but her curiosity won, and she walked to the passenger side. As she buckled herself in, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"Lunch," Grissom stated as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Sara raised an eyebrow. '_Lunch_?'

"You'll be of no use to me tonight if you're famished," Grissom continued.

She was about to give a nasty retort when she looked at him. He smiled at her in the way he used to. Her anger was quickly squelched, and she smiled back. '_Might as well see where this is taking me,_' she thought as she sank into the seat, Vivaldi'ssymphony floating all around her.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **You all are too kind. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. And as always, thanks to Rouch for all her help and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I checked I do not own CSI. But if you feel you must take all my belongings you may have everything except my classrooms new baby ducks and hissing cockroaches. :)

**_Chapter Ten_**

'_And this is why I am not spontaneous_,' Gil Grissom thought as he studied his lunch companion. Sara Sidle sat across from him, gently biting her lip, looking completely lost. Every so often, she fidgeted with the napkin in her lap and reached for her glass of water before hurriedly retracting her hand. She was staring intently at the menu laid before her, and yet, Grissom had a feeling she hadn't read a single option on the menu.

Sara was on edge, and he didn't blame her. At one time, the two of them had been able to comfortably have a meal together, but that was a long time ago. '_Before Vegas_,' he realized. He tried to remember if the two of them had ever had a meal alone together since she had come to Vegas. As hard as he tried, he couldn't remember one. '_Surely we did when she first came out here_,' he thought and scratched his chin in confusion.

"Penny for your thoughts," Sara said and completed another nervous interlude with the water glass.

"We've never had a meal alone since you've been in Vegas," Grissom mused.

"No," Sara said and looked back down at her menu.

He saw her jaw tighten and had a feeling that her chocolate eyes were a mixture of emotions. "I'm sorry," he said softly, unsure if she would hear him.

The confused look she directed at him let him know she did. The reappearance of their waiter deterred him from elaborating. "Are we ready?" the young man asked.

Grissom looked at Sara. She nodded at the waiter. "Manicotti, Caesar salad," she said and handed off the menu.

Grissom opened his mouth to give his usual request and froze. He looked questioningly at Sara. She looked perplexed for a moment, before offering a tentative smile. "I would never deny you meat," she said. "Just please don't order it rare."

Grissom nodded and turned his attention back to the waiter. "Sirloin Marsala, medium, spaghetti pomodoro with a Caesar salad," Grissom said and handed the menu to the waiter.

The man nodded and retreated from the table. Sara's attention was focused on her glass, her fingers drawing intricate designs in the condensation. "Sara…" Grissom said, his voice trailing off, unsure of what exactly he wanted to say.

Her hand ceased its movements and her eyes locked with his, waiting patiently for him to elaborate. A movement out of the corner of his eye distracted Grissom for a moment. "Do you ever see strangers on the street, or in a restaurant," he asked and motioned around before continuing, "and wonder—"

"—how they'll die?" Sara finished for him. Her lips curved into a smile and he watched her slightly relax. "Yeah, all the time."

"I thought it was just me," Grissom said as their salads were brought out. "Or if nothing else, I observe and learn details that I'm sure most people wouldn't look for."

"Do you need anything?" the waiter asked.

The two shook their heads and he left. "Like the couple at the table on our right," Sara said and nodded in their direction. "He has a wedding band on his hand. She doesn't. But they've been playing footsy under the table since we got here."

Grissom nodded. "You can take the CSI out of the lab…" he said with a small smile.

Sara smiled back before retrieving the pepper and sprinkling it on her salad. A silence fell over the two as they ate, but the uncomfortable atmosphere was no longer present. After a few minutes, Sara placed her fork on the plate and looked at him. "Uh, Griss?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied and lowered his fork.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but what's going on?" she asked. "Are you trying to make sure you have a meal with everyone you work with?"

Grissom cringed inwardly. '_Sofia_.' "I gather you're referring to the dinner I had with Sofia," he said.

She nodded, refusing to make eye contact. "Dinner with Sofia was…" he sighed, and continued, "she had just told me that she was going to leave the department. I did not want to deal with the stress of losing another one of my staff, so I asked her to dinner to try and sort out her concerns over her new position."

Sara nodded, apparently accepting his explanation. '_Don't ask it_,' Grissom willed her.

"Well, I'm not leaving," she said. "So, sorry for sounding like a broken record, but what's going on?"

'_Damn, she asked it_.' Grissom's brow furrowed in thought as he tried to think of the best way to express what he was thinking. "Look, Griss, never mind," Sara said and picked up her fork. "I keep doing this. Things were going okay and then I opened my—"

"—stop it," Grissom interrupted and watched Sara's mouth drop open slightly in shock, her fork falling onto the table.

He studied her confused look and continued, "I can't quickly formulate a response to that. You need to let me gather my thoughts before deciding the conversation is finished."

Sara raised an eyebrow and leaned back in the chair. "Then by all means, gather," she replied.

"What did you mean when you said, '_Turns out he didn't think I was worth the risk'_?" Grissom asked.

Sara shifted uncomfortably in her chair and instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. She sighed and looked at him. "I was in the observation room when you were interviewing Dr. Lurie," she finally said.

Grissom nodded. "I thought that was what you were referring to," he said and pushed the salad to the side. "I wish I had known you were in the room."

"Well…" Sara said, her face twisting in a mass of conflicting emotions.

"There is no such thing as bravery; only degrees of fear," Grissom stated.

"John Wainwright," Sara said and bit her lip. "Are you trying to tell me that I scare you?"

"No," Grissom said. "You terrify me."

Sara's eyes clouded in confusion. "I saw myself in him," Grissom continued.

"In Dr. Lurie?" Sara asked.

Grissom nodded. "He killed Debbie because she left him and he couldn't stand living with the light she had in her and knowing he was no longer privy to it," he elaborated. "I rationalized that if I never tasted your light, if I never allowed it to get too close, then I would never destroy you like he did her."

"But my destruction of you was more subtle than Dr. Lurie's," Grissom tilted his head in thought. "I pushed you away. I was cold, distant. I hurt you," he said bitterly. "I wouldn't allow myself to take the chance with you, but I couldn't stand to let you leave either."

Grissom noted the moistness in Sara's eyes and reached out a hand towards her. "Honey, don't cry," he said, his voice full of emotion.

She opened her mouth to speak and was cut off by the ringing of Grissom's phone. He glared at the offending object. "Answer it," Sara choked out. "I'm going to use the ladies' room."

Grissom watched her rise, and he gently grasped her hand as she passed. She gave a gentle squeeze before disengaging their hands and continuing on her course. Grissom picked up the cell phone and flipped it open. "Grissom," he said with more force than usual.

"Well, good day to you too, Gil," Brass answered.

"What can I do for you, Jim?" Grissom asked, closing his eyes in frustration.

"I got a warrant for the SPCA. I know you and Sara both wanted in on the meeting with the director," Brass said. "I'm meeting Mr. Doyle, the director, in forty minutes at his office. He's a veterinarian. Sara said that the first two women were both members of the SPCA and attended the monthly meetings."

"It is possible that is where they met the killer. Directions?" Grissom asked and mentally recorded the information Brass relayed.

"Do you want me to call Sara?" Brass asked.

"No," Grissom said. "We'll meet you in thirty."

He flipped the phone shut. A few seconds later Sara rejoined him. Her eyes were red and it looked as though she had splashed water on her face. "Who was it?" she asked as she sat down.

"Brass," Grissom said. "We have a meeting with the director of the SPCA in forty minutes."

Sara nodded as he motioned for their waiter. "I need you to box our meals," Grissom stated.

The young man nodded and returned a few minutes later with their meals boxed and in a restaurant bag. Grissom quickly paid the check and stood. Sara seemed to be on auto pilot and walked with him out of the restaurant. He unlocked the car and placed their meals in the back seat before turning to look at her.

"We'll finish this conversation later," he said. "I promise."

* * *

She was running on auto pilot, merely making the appropriate movements so as not to cause alarm. She had been blindsided, there was no other way to describe what had just happened. A million thoughts and emotions were running through her at the moment and she wasn't sure which one to latch onto.

Sara looked out of the car window and watched Las Vegas unfold around her. The vibrant colors and busy streets were making her dizzy and she had to shut her eyes to keep from vomiting. Her time in the restaurant bathroom had done nothing to help her compose herself. If anything it had made her even more tense and on the brink of losing control.

'_What the hell just happened_?' she wondered and clutched a hand to her stomach.

Her eyes reopened, and looked out the side window. She could see Grissom's eyes reflected in the window. '_Stop looking at me!_' she screamed in her head. She really did not want to be in his company right now. Confusion flowed through her. Nothing with this man was ever easy. His words from earlier echoed in her mind, '_But my destruction of you was more subtle than Dr. Lurie's._'

She shook her head in frustration. How many times did she tell herself over the years that she needed to end this…this…god, she had no idea how to define what exactly this was between them. Exhaustion and the emotional loop she had just been wrung through were beginning to take their toll. Sara took a deep breath, trying to regain her self control. She could do this. They had an interview to get to, Brass was expecting him, and the victims needed her to find who had done this.

In her minds eye, she saw the three victims and vowed to recapture her self control. She would do it for them. She _had_ to do it for them. She took another deep breath and felt his fingers' feather light touch as he brushed them against her arm. Images of another victim rose in her mind, pushing aside the latest ones. Her father's body lay on the bed, the knife wedged in his chest as he gasped for his last breath. The walls of the car seemed to slowly come crushing in on her.

Sara closed her eyes again, and gripped the door tightly. "Stop the car," she said her voice barely audible.

"What?" Grissom asked.

"Stop the car," Sara repeated.

She didn't see his reaction to her statement, but he did oblige her. She quickly fumbled with her seat belt; a small whimper of frustration escaped her lips until she finally freed herself. Opening the door she almost fell out of the car. She regained her balance and began walking as fast as her feet would take her away from the car.

She didn't see anything around her, but somehow managed to work her way through the crowded sidewalk. Hearing Grissom call her name she refused to turn around, but continued her path. She had no idea where she was going, but she was trying to get there fast, to move away from the images in her mind. Her only problem was that she knew you couldn't run from the past. It had a sneaky way of catching up with you when you least expected it.

She turned off the busy sidewalk and into a relatively empty park. A hand caught her arm and Sara almost stumbled, but the grip kept her aloft. She turned to see Grissom, his hand refusing to relinquish its grip on her arm. The look on his face was a mask of worry. '_Or is it concern?_' she thought. "Sara?" he asked.

"No," she said stubbornly, forcing him to let go of her. "You can't keep doing this. I won't let you."

"Doing what?" he asked and reached a tentative hand out.

She slapped it away. "That!" she said, her voice louder than she meant. "You…say those things…like it's supposed to make me feel better. You want me to think: 'Oh, well he really does care, Sara, but see he's afraid he might end up hurting you or himself. Really he's actually looking out for your best interest, so cut the guy some slack'."

She looked up into his eyes, every emotion she felt at the moment laid bare in them. "Its bullshit," she finished.

Sara broke eye contact and breathed shakily. She looked up and expected him to be gone, to have run from her and whatever _this_ was, like he had so many times before. Instead he reached and gently brushed away tears she didn't know she had shed.

"I don't know how to make this right," Grissom stated. "Honey, I don't know how to repent for all the hurt I caused you."

'_Honey_.'It was the second time he had used that phrase on her in the last thirty minutes. "I want to make this better. I'm trying to figure out how to do that. Trust me," he said, his hands cupping her face.

"I…I can't," she replied and looked away from him.

"Then let me work on regaining your trust," Grissom said.

Sara looked up at Grissom and was astonished to see how old and weary he looked at this moment. His eyes pleaded with her. She nodded and his eyes closed in relief. He gently pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on her forehead. '_Do not make me regret this, Gil Grissom_,' she thought.

He tightened his hold as if silently whispering, '_I won't._'


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and recommended _Illusions_. You really know how to keep a girl motivated. As always, thanks to Rouch for all her help in making this story coherent and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Eleven_**

Jim Brass was a patient man. Okay, so that was a big, fat lie. He wasn't a patient man. His ex-wife and daughter could attest to that, but he supposed that he was relatively patient. He looked down at his watch again and rechecked the time against his cell phone clock. '_No_,' he thought. _'I have the right time. Hell has simply frozen over. That is the only way to explain Grissom being ten minutes late.'_

Being late in regards to paperwork, memos, and letters was one thing, but Gil Grissom was never late to anything related to a case. Brass surveyed the Henderson Veterinarian Clinic parking lot once more and finally spotted Grissom's Denali pulling in. He opened his door and walked over to the SUV, his witty retort dying on his lips as he took in his colleagues' appearances. Something was off between the two of them. Brass wasn't exactly sure what it was, but something was up. They both wore sunglasses, and he had a feeling it wasn't to simply cover their eyes from the harsh Vegas sun. Unfortunately, Grissom had an excellent poker face and from his talk with Nick earlier, apparently so did Sara.

Brass nodded at the two of them as they approached him. "So, I hear you're the girl to go to for some extra cash," Brass joked as he looked at Sara.

"Oh, crap!" Sara mumbled and fumbled in her purse before producing her cell phone. "Sorry, I need to give Greg his wake up call."

"You realize that you're probably playing into one of his fantasies by doing so," Brass pointed out.

Sara stuck her tongue out at him before flipping the phone open. "What can you tell us, Jim?" Grissom asked, forcing Brass' attention away from Sara.

"Mr. Doyle—" Brass began.

"Dr. Doyle," Grissom stated. Brass raised an eyebrow. "If he's a veterinarian then he would be referred to as Dr. Doyle."

"Okay, Dr. Doyle is one of the director's of the local SPCA chapter. His clinic houses a lot of the city's strays that are up for adoption," Brass said. "I informed him that we had some questions and would need access to his member's list and any and all records from the last six chapter meetings."

"And he was okay with that?" Sara asked joining the conversation.

"I informed him that we had a warrant," Brass said and showed the paper.

"It's amazing how that piece of paper allows us access to so many different things," Sara said as they walked to the clinic.

"Well, this one only allows us access to the member's list, chapter meeting records, and any electronic recordings of the meetings, well, if they made any," Brass informed her.

"Um, one second," Sara said, reached into her purse, and pulled out a small notepad. She flipped through it and her eyes widened. "This is Kimberly Witt's veterinarian. Her credit card statements showed several charges for checkups for her cat."

"You can actually read that?" Brass asked as he looked at the chicken scratch on the pad.

Sara shrugged. "Well, we'll need to see what Dr. Doyle can tell us about Ms. Witt," Brass said. "Tyler Cuneo, Kimberly Witt's fiancé, is coming into the station later today. Her parents are catching a flight and will be in later this evening also."

The three of them entered the clinic and stopped at the reception desk. "Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police Department," Brass told the lady behind the counter as he flashed his badge. "And this is Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle from the crime lab."

"How can I help you?" she asked with bewilderment.

"They have an appointment with me, Marie."

The three turned to see a man in his late forties standing in the doorway. "Dr. William Doyle," he said and reached out a hand to Brass. "I gather you are the man I spoke to on the phone."

Brass nodded and shook his hand. "I am," Brass replied. He turned to Grissom and Sara. "This is—"

"Gil Grissom," Dr. Doyle interrupted. "Your paper on the encasement of bodies and the effect it has on the blowfly timeline was riveting."

Brass raised a questioning eyebrow. "The pig study I did on the Kay Shelton case," Grissom informed him. "Sara Sidle was pivotal in that experiment," Grissom added in introduction.

Dr. Doyle turned to Sara and smiled at her. "It is always promising to see women in scientific fields," he said and shook Sara's hand.

"Please, follow me to my office," Dr. Doyle said, releasing Sara's hand.

Brass watched Sara wipe her hand on her pants, her lips twisting in thought as she followed the doctor. They entered the doctor's office and Brass tried hard to hide his amusement. In many ways, it was similar to Grissom's office. Various insects were displayed in jars along a bookshelf. Diplomas and certificates of achievement hung on the wall alongside framed butterflies and spiders. And resting on a low table next to the desk was an aquarium housing a tarantula.

Grissom knelt down by the aquarium and peered inside. "An Acanthoscurria geniculata," he said and took his seat.

Dr. Doyle took his seat on the other side of the desk and smiled. "Yes, he's seven years old," he told Grissom and then looked at Brass and Sara. "Would you like to see him? Feel free to look."

"No," Brass stated and eyed Sara as she chuckled.

"I'm not quite sure how I can help you," Dr. Doyle said and picked up two folders from his desk. "These contain copies of our member list, the meetings' minutes, and the sign in sheets."

"Thank you," Brass said, took the folders, and handed them to Sara who promptly placed them in an evidence bag. "Dr. Doyle, do you know a woman by the name of Kimberly Witt?"

"Yes," Dr. Doyle said. "Her Bombay Asian black shorthair, Sutekh, is a patient of mine. He is currently in the clinic's overnight facility."

"Sutekh, as in the Egyptian god of chaos?" Sara asked, slightly intrigued by the unique name.

"Yes. Sutekh is quite a handful. He lives up to the name," Dr. Doyle said and offered her a smile. "Kimberly is also a highly valued member of the SPCA."

"How so?" Grissom asked.

"Kimberly is intelligent and vivacious. She has a way of making those around her stand up and listen," Dr. Doyle said. "She is one of our key speakers to help motivate our group members and others in the community at our different charitable events. She would use her knowledge of different animals and their habitats to reel in people and make them want to help." He turned his attention to Sara. "She has a deep passion for animal rights."

"Angie Moore is also a member of the SPCA. Can you tell us anything about her?" Grissom asked, obtaining the doctor's attention.

"Pardon my abruptness, but why all the questions?" Dr. Doyle asked.

"Both women were murdered," Brass answered bluntly. "The only correlation between them is their membership with the SPCA."

"Surely you are not thinking that someone in the SPCA murdered them," Dr. Doyle said.

None of them answered. "I don't know what to tell you," Dr. Doyle said. "Angie was a bright woman. She was eager to help out with any event. She was a hard worker and extremely intelligent."

The conversation ceased and Brass mulled the information around in his mind. He looked at his watch and noticed that he was cutting it close if he wanted to be on time for Mr. Cuneo's interview. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Doyle," Brass said and stood. "I'll contact you if we have any questions."

The others stood. "Anything to help. Kimberly and Angie will be sorely missed," Dr. Doyle said and shook Brass's hand. "It was an honor to meet you, Dr. Grissom," he continued.

Grissom nodded and shook the doctor's hand. "It was a pleasure, Ms. Sidle," Dr. Doyle said and extended his hand.

Sara offered her hand and shook his. Dr. Doyle's thumb made a quick caress across the back of her hand. Brass blinked unsure if he had seen what had happened or if he had imagined it. The startled look on Sara's face told him that the incident was not imagined. Brass looked at Grissom and was surprised to see the intensity in his eyes.

Dr. Doyle released his grip and smiled. "Would it be too much trouble to ask for some help to my car with some boxes?" the doctor asked and motioned to a small pile behind the tarantula terrarium.

Brass shook his head. "Where to?" he asked and hoisted one of the boxes.

Dr. Doyle picked up one of the boxes and proceeded towards the door. "The parking lot," he said and walked through the door.

Brass made sure Grissom and Sara were coming and followed the doctor. They made their way to a blue Honda Civic LX. A warning bell went off in Brass's head. Brass passed a look at Grissom and Sara and by the looks they replied with knew they were thinking the same thing. _This_ was the model that left behind tire tracks at the Witt crime scene.

The doctor unlocked the car and they began placing the boxes in the trunk. Brass watched Sara walk around the side of the car and casually peer inside of it. "Dr. Doyle,those are interesting seat coverings. I've been looking for something unique for my own car. What is it?" Sara asked, smiling serenely at the man.

"You have exquisite taste, Ms. Sidle," Dr. Doyle answered and returned the smile. "It's extremely rare, made from a Vicuna."

She reached into her purse and pulled out her notebook. "Would you mind writing down where you purchased it from?" she asked and held out the notebook. "I would love to acquire my own."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sidle," Dr. Doyle said. "I have a friend in South America who made them especially for me."

Sara frowned and placed the notebook back in her purse. "However," Dr. Doyle continued. "If you'd give me your number, I could see what I can arrange."

Sara's smile returned and she fiddled with her purse for a few seconds before producing a card with her CSI contact information on it. "Here you are," she said and gave him the card.

Brass stole a look at Grissom and noted that the man's hands were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, as he took in the scene. "I'll let you know," Dr. Doyle said and studied the card.

"I'll be waiting," Sara answered.

"You spell your name without an h," Dr. Doyle said, his fingers moving over her name on the card. "Sara was the wife of Abraham. She was celebrated for her beauty as well as her audacity."

"Are you trying to imply that I'm spirited?" Sara asked raising an eyebrow.

"No," Dr. Doyle said and pocketed the card. "I was trying to imply that I think you are beautiful."

Sara and Brass were rooted to their spots, speechless. Grissom was the only one to move. His right hand clasped Sara's arm. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Doyle," Grissom said gruffly. "We really do have to be going."

Brass's mouth tightened to prevent him from laughing outright at Grissom. He watched his friend begin 'guide' Sara to the Denali in the parking lot. Brass nodded to the doctor and made his way to the two CSIs. He watched Grissom place his sunglasses back on before turning in his direction.

"He owns the same model vehicle that made tracks we found at Kimberly Witt's crime scene," Sara stated. "And he has Vicuna seat covers. What I wouldn't give to run an ALS through that car."

"I'll work on getting a warrant," Brass replied. "He seemed taken with you," he directed at Sara.

Grissom snorted and Sara directed a look in his direction. "I'm going to the station to interview Kimberly Witt's fiancé," Brass informed them.

"I'll meet you there after I drop Sara off at the lab," Grissom stated, unlocked the Denali, and sat in the driver's seat.

Sara nodded goodbye, before taking her seat. '_If looks could kill_,' Brass smiled wickedly.

'_Oh to be a fly in that car…'_ Brass thought as he drove away.

* * *

Sara Sidle's eyes narrowed in anger as she looked straight out the windshield. '_Killing Grissom is a bad idea_,' she thought and reminded herself all the reasons why she shouldn't kill Grissom. She clenched her fists and her jaw tightened in annoyance and frustration. '_Screw it, I'm killing him,_' she decided and cast a look in his direction.

He had his sunglasses back on, making any attempt to read his eyes futile. Sara took in his other features. His jaw was set in a grimace, his nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly that they were white. But right now, she could care less.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Sara demanded. "_I'll drop Sara off at the lab_. Why the hell am I going to the lab?"

Grissom didn't answer, but his grip on the wheel tightened as did his jaw. Sara waited patiently for an answer, and when none was forthcoming, she opened her mouth, preparing for another retort; however, at that moment, Grissom decided to quickly merge lanes, pull into the nearest parking lot, turn the car off, unbuckle his seat belt, and slam the door as he exited the car. She sat stunned in the car by this uncharacteristic burst of emotion before unbuckling her seat belt and exiting the car. She walked over to him as he paced back and forth along the sidewalk. Sara leaned against the Denali and waited for him to calm down and talk to her. After a few minutes, Grissom stopped his pacing and looked at her. His jaw was still tightened but not to the severity as before.

"Dr. Doyle is a suspect," Grissom stated.

'_Well, duh_,' Sara thought but simply gave him a look to continue. "If he is the perpetrator then you know what he is capable of," Grissom said his mouth tightening again.

Sara looked at him in bewilderment. '_Where is he going with this?_' she wondered. Then it hit her. "Yes, Grissom, I know he is a suspect and I do know what he is capable of," Sara said and rolled her eyes. "I gave him my card, any information we receive from him could be probative in the investigation."

Her eyes narrowed as she continued, "You wouldn't have a problem with this if it was Sofia or Catherine."

"Sofia and Catherine do not meet the victim profile," Grissom stated. "Or did you forget that part? Tall, brunette, extremely intelligent. Does that remind you of anyone? And Brass was right; he did seem rather _taken_ with you."

Sara shut her eyes and massaged her temples. "Do you think that little of me, to honestly think I would willingly place myself in a situation where I could be harmed?" Sara asked, opened her eyes, and glared at him.

"The 'strip strangler' case," Grissom replied.

Sara's eyes widened. "Jesus, Griss, that was five years ago!" she exclaimed. "I was young and stupid. I had no idea what I was getting myself into."

Sara closed her eyes and silently counted to ten as she got her breathing under control. She looked back up at Grissom and readied herself to speak. He placed a hand out motioning for her to stop whatever she was going to say.

"There is no passion so much transports the sincerity of judgment as doth anger," Grissom said, more to himself than to her.

Sara waited patiently for him to expand. "Truce?" he asked.

She caught herself from making any unwarranted comments. '_It's probably best to call a truce,_' she thought. She really didn't have the energy to continue this conversation.

Grissom tossed her the keys. "You drive," he stated and entered the car on the passenger's side.

Sara looked at the keys in her hand and knew that they were his way of apologizing. She smiled as she opened the door and took her seat. She adjusted the rearview mirror and the evidence bag with the SPCA folders came into view.

"You do the interview," Sara said as she exited the parking lot. "I want to get the folders Dr. Doyle gave us to the print lab. If I can obtain his prints from them, and they're a match to the ones on a lily, that information may help Brass get a warrant."

Grissom nodded, and she began tapping her fingers to the tempo of Vivaldi.

"You're still young," Grissom said, interrupting the silence.

"Huh?" Sara asked, confused as to where he was going.

"You said back when you were young and stupid," Grissom answered. "You're still young, Sara."

"Then why do I feel so old?" Sara asked as they pulled into the LVPD parking lot.

Grissom didn't answer, and she wasn't sure how that made her feel.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and recommended _Illusions_. You really know how to keep a girl motivated. As always, thanks to Rouch for all her help in making this story coherent and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Twelve_**

Gil Grissom frowned as he walked through the hallways of the Las Vegas police station. He had done something today that he had not done in years. He had allowed his emotions to get the better of him, and he did not like it. Anger and jealousy had coursed through his veins with more force than he had ever experienced before.

'_Jealousy is always born of love, but does not always die with it,_' Grissom thought. '_But is it love?_' His frown intensified. He wasn't sure how to identify the feelings Sara stirred in him. He had nothing to compare them to. He loved his mother, he admired Catherine, he had been infatuated at one time with Lady Heather, but Sara…that was indefinable. Whatever the emotion was, it terrified and excited him at the same time.

He rounded the corner and saw Brass walking into Interrogation Room 3 with a man in his early thirties. The man appeared haggard and looked as though he had been through an emotional wringer. '_Tyler Cuneo,_' Grissom thought and nodded to Brass.

Grissom made his way into the observation room connected to the interrogation room. He clicked on the speaker and focused on Tyler Cuneo. "I can't believe she's dead," the man said, his face in his hands.

Tyler looked up at Brass, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh, god, did anyone contact her parents?" he asked. "This is going to kill Kimmy's mom."

Brass nodded and then asked, "Do you know of anyone who had been paying extra attention to Kimberly? Or someone whom she had talked about a lot in the prior weeks?"

Tyler's eyes narrowed angrily. "Dr. William Doyle," the young man spat. "He's our veterinarian and Kimmy's been working closely with him on a number of projects for the SPCA."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the mention of the vet's name. "He was over a lot recently. They've been working on some fundraiser for next week," Tyler continued. Tyler looked plaintively at Brass. "Its not that I'm the jealous type. I liked the guy at first. He's a good vet and he does great work for the SPCA, but the way he would look at Kimmy and the things he would say to her…"

Tyler shook his head in frustration. "He would get this look in his eye. It reminded me of the look Sutekh would get before she pounced on a bug," Tyler said.

He slid back in the chair and sighed. "Why would anyone do that to her?" Tyler asked and pointed at the photographs of Kimberly Witt's body. "Why would anyone want to deny the world of her wonderful spirit?"

* * *

"Hello, doc," Sara said as she pushed open the autopsy room doors.

Doctor Robbins smiled. "Care for some?" he asked and held up a mug.

Sara nodded and walked over to him. She waited patiently for him to fill another mug and then took a sip. "Heaven," she murmured. "And I thought Greg had the good stuff. Now I know where to come when I need a caffeine fix."

"There are certain perks to being Chief medical examiner," Dr. Robbins replied and placed his coffee down.

He removed a file from a stack beside him and handed it to Sara. "I'm still waiting on the tox screen, but so far she's consistent with Kimberly Witt's body," Dr. Robbins said. "The bugs did their job and any distinguishing marks she had are no longer visible. Her fingers are not viable for prints."

Sara sighed. She was expecting this news but it didn't make it any more enjoyable. "Your best bet is probably facial reconstruction," Dr. Robbins said. "I'll send the dental x-rays out to the local dentists."

"Thanks, doc," Sara said and handed him her mug.

Sara perused the folder as she made her way out of the room and towards the crime lab. A hand grabbing her forearm startled her and she looked up to see who the offender was. She raised an eyebrow at Catherine Willows as she was pulled into the woman's office.

She watched Catherine close the door and motion for her to take a seat. Sara hesitantly followed the request unsure of what was going on. Her relationship with Catherine had always been shaky and lately it had been worse than that. "You and Grissom have to be two of the most apolitically minded people I know," Catherine said as she sat down.

Sara looked at her old teammate with confusion. "What?" she asked.

"Do you have any idea who Dr. Doyle is?" Catherine asked.

"He's a veterinarian," Sara said unsure of where Catherine was going with this.

"He also happens to be the mayor's nephew," Catherine said.

'_Okay…_' Sara thought. "You don't see where I am going with this?" Catherine asked exasperatedly.

Sara shook her head. Catherine sighed and continued, "The mayor will not take kindly to anyone 'coming after' his family. You are going to need undeniable proof in order to get even a search warrant."

"Ecklie is already on the warpath because you, Grissom and Brass interviewed the man," Catherine said.

"We were only there because we needed to get the documents from the SPCA," Sara stated. "We had a warrant and he was very forthcoming, so I don't know why Ecklie has his...I don't know why he is mad. How did anyone even know we talked to Dr. Doyle?"

Catherine shrugged. "Jacqui confirmed that the prints from the folders he handed over matched the unknown from Kimberly Witt's apartment," Catherine said.

"Wait a second, that information should have come to Grissom or me first," Sara said, feeling her anger rising.

"Jacqui was getting ready to page you when Ecklie and I came in to discuss some other matter with her," Catherine said. "I just wanted to let you know. Tread carefully, Sara. Tell Grissom to do the same."

Sara stood up and sighed. "Thanks," she said and walked out of the office.

She quickly made her way to the fingerprint lab. Jacqui looked up from her microscope with a guilty look on her face. "I am so sorry, Sara," she apologized. "I didn't even know who Dr. Doyle was…"

"Neither did I," Sara stated. "What have you got for me?"

"I isolated three sets of prints on the folders - Brass's, yours, and an unknown," Jacqui said and handed the report to Sara. "The unknown matched the prints you obtained from the victim's apartment as well as the body in Pahrump."

"Of course, just because those were the only prints I lifted, it doesn't mean the unknowns were Dr. Doyle's. It could belong to anyone who touched the folders," Jacqui continued. "Get me his prints, and I'll let you know if they do belong to him."

"Thanks, Jacqui," Sara said and added Jacqui's files to the autopsy report folder as she exited the room.

"Sidle!" Sara cringed as she heard Ecklie yell her name.

'Be professional,' she warned herself before turning around. He stood at the other end of the hallway, glaring daggers at her. "My office. Now," he stated and turned.

Sara closed her eyes and counted to five. "What's going on?" she heard Grissom ask from behind her.

"Apparently, Dr. Doyle is the mayor's nephew," Sara said as she turned to look at him.

The political ramifications seemed to come together in Grissom's mind and Sara watched his eyes narrow. He let out a gruff sigh. "Go and deal with the evidence," he stated and looked at her, his eyes softening. "I'll deal with Ecklie."

"Sure you don't want moral support?" she asked. "I feel like I'm throwing you to the wolves."

Grissom smiled. "I'll find you when I'm done," he said.

* * *

Grissom opened the door to Conrad Ecklie's office, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Ecklie stood behind his desk with his back to the door. "Sidle, could you please explain the reasoning behind interviewing the mayor's nephew?" Ecklie asked without turning around.

Grissom's eyes narrowed slightly at the brusque, rude manner of Ecklie's voice before putting on his game face as he took a seat. "Technically Conrad, it wasn't an interview. We were there to obtain evidence about the SPCA via a search warrant," Grissom said smiling.

Ecklie turned around, engulfed in a cloud of confusion, before he focused his attention on Grissom. Ecklie glared at him before responding, "I believe I asked _Sara_ to join me in my office."

"And as Sara's _supervisor_ I sent her to work the evidence," Grissom countered. His eyes narrowed slightly, and it took all of Grissom's control to keep his emotions in check as he continued, "If you have a problem with something one of my subordinates has done I believe _you_ are supposed to talk to _me_ and then, _I_ rectify the situation."

Ecklie frowned and sat in his seat. "Do you have _any_ idea who Dr. Doyle is?" Ecklie asked.

"I did not when we went to gather the information," Grissom said calmly. "I will treat him the same as I would any other suspect, Conrad. Mayor's nephew or not."

Ecklie shook his head in exasperation. "_That_ attitude is the very reason you will always be a meager supervisor, Gil," Ecklie spat. "He is not just any suspect. If he complains to his uncle about the interview then the mayor will be breathing down our necks."

"What do you suggest we do then? Give him special privileges because of who he is?" Grissom asked. "_That_ is not how I work."

Ecklie's eyes narrowed. "I believe I am the one in charge of this facility," Ecklie warned.

"Yes, Conrad, you are," Grissom said and smiled. "However, I doubt the people of Vegas would appreciate the crime lab tip-toeing around a potential killer because of his familial relations."

Ecklie glowered at him. "Besides," Grissom continued. "I work with the evidence, and I am only going to go where it takes me."

Ecklie frowned again but the ringing of his office phone halted the conversation. Ecklie jabbed his finger at the speaker phone button, and roughly spoke, "What is it Mary?"

"There's a Dr. Doyle here to see you," the receptionist voice said over the line.

"Tell him I'll be right there," Ecklie returned and hung the phone up, cutting off her reply.

"We're done here for now, Gil," he said before exiting the room.

Grissom stood and followed Ecklie into the hallway, his purpose to find Sara. Unfortunately, it seemed as though he and Ecklie were going to end up at the same destination. Grissom stiffened as he saw the scene unfolded before him. Dr. Doyle was talking to Sara at the end of the hall by the receptionist desk.

Tyler Cuneo's words echoed in Grissom's mind as he fell into place behind Sara. '_He would get this look in his eye.'_ He fully understood what Mr. Cuneo had been describing. The doctor's eyes roamed over Sara's body as if he was a lion and she was a gazelle he was getting ready to feast on. Grissom's mask of indifference was beginning to crack.

Dr. Doyle looked at Grissom and smiled. "Hello again, Dr. Grissom," he spoke and nodded in greeting. "The assistant director wanted to speak to me and I happened to bump into Sara…"

Grissom's fists clenched at the way the doctor said Sara's name. Grissom watched the doctor look at Ecklie for the first time and extend his hand. "You must be Conrad Ecklie," Dr. Doyle said and shook his hand.

Ecklie nodded. "I'll be ready in one second," Dr. Doyle informed him before turning his attention back to Sara. His hand reached out and stroked her arm. Grissom watched Sara stiffen at the touch. "Would you care to have dinner with me after this meeting?"

"Um….sorry, I'm kind of knee deep in this case," Sara answered.

"Another time," Dr. Doyle replied, stilling his movements.

His fingers lingered on Sara's arm for a few more seconds before he dropped his hand. "Have a pleasant evening, Sara," he said. "Dr. Grissom."

Grissom watched the doctor and Ecklie walk down the hallway towards Ecklie's office, his mask of indifference cracking even more. The man had an uncanny way of getting under his skin. "I feel like I need a bath," Sara said, interrupting his thoughts.

Grissom looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "The way he was looking at me…" Sara trailed off and shook herself.

"I put our meals in my fridge," Grissom said, his hand touching the spot where Dr. Doyle's fingers had been moments before. He wanted to erase all trace of the man from Sara's body.

"I'll call Brass and have him meet us in my office," Grissom said, his hand falling to his side as he remembered that they were still at work.

Sara nodded, her eyes boring into his, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. "We can eat while we discuss what we know so far," Grissom continued.

He started towards his office, leaving Sara with no choice but to follow.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks for all of the kind reviews. I'm glad that you all are responding positively to the story. A big thank you to Rouch for all her insights and help and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

Sara's voice echoed through the break room as she sang, "When I bought him they said, Are you sure? No refund, returns, or exchanges…" She placed the correct amount of coins into the soda machine slot, pushed her selection, and smiled as her caffeinated bottle of soda dropped down. She repeated the process, retrieved Grissom's drink, and walked down the hallway. The smell of cheese, garlic, and spices permeated from Grissom's office, offering an appetizing treat to all who passed it.

Sara pushed open the door and took her seat as Grissom finished clearing an area on his desk for their boxes of food. She tossed him his drink and smiled as she opened her own. She was famished and hadn't realized it until she had smelt their reheated lunches.

She spared a look at Grissom before digging into her Manicotti. "Delicious," she murmured.

"Oh, that's not fair," Brass said from the doorway.

He closed the door behind him and sat down in the chair by Sara. "No one told me we were ordering out," he pouted.

"Such is life," Sara said before taking another bite.

She smiled at Brass and turned her attention to Grissom, quickly engulfing herself in her professional manner. "Let's go over what we know," Grissom started.

"We have three female victims given a high dosage of Xanax, their ulnar arteries cut so that they would bleed to death. They are displayed in a…unique manner," Brass started.

Sara nodded. "Each victim was placed on a white sheet with four silver candlesticks at each corner. First victim found was displayed in the middle of the sheet, naked, lilies spread across her body, and a lily in her mouth, with her hands crossed at her chest and her feet crossed at the ankles," Sara stated and took another bite. "All were found in an open area. However, Kimberly Witt and Angie Moore were found in the desert. Our Jane Doe was located in the woods surrounding Lake Mead."

"What do we know about the killer?" Brass asked.

"Whoever it is needs to have access to Xanax, a Honda Civic LX, and something that is made with Vicuna," Grissom answered. "They also need to have a fairly basic knowledge of the human body to know where to locate the ulnar artery with the precision evident in the bodies."

"Well, as a veterinarian, Dr. Doyle would have needed to take an anatomy class, so he would know where the ulnar artery is located," Sara pondered. "He has a Honda Civic LX with Vicuna seat coverings. And Jacqui found a set of unknown prints on the SPCA folders. They are a match to the ones taken in connection to the Angie Moore and Kimberly Witt's cases."

"Tyler Cuneo stated that Dr. Doyle has been to his and Kimberly's apartment numerous times, so that doesn't mean much," Brass said and reached for a piece of Manicotti.

Sara swatted his hand. "Where was the print found in the NyeCounty case?" Grissom asked.

Sara reached for the file from his desk, opened it, and quickly scanned the information. "On the door handle of Angie Moore's apartment. He can always say he's been to her place of residence also," Sara sighed and looked up. "What did Kimberly's fiancé say in the interview?"

She watched Grissom grimace. "Well, apparently, Dr. Doyle had been around the apartment a lot recently," Brass informed her, "And Mr. Cuneo didn't approve of the doctor's behavior towards Kimberly."

Sara nodded. "He can be a little…" she said and paused to search for the right word, "intense."

She looked back at Grissom and tried to read what he was thinking. He seemed to be distracted and off in his own world. While this wasn't a unique experience, she had a feeling that this time it was different. His eyes were on her but it was as if he was looking right through her, or was it right into her? The ringing of a cell phone snapped both of them out of their moments.

Brass answered the phone and listened carefully to the caller. His face went through a series of emotions before he frowned. "Can you send the information via fax to the CSI crime lab to my attention, care of Grissom?" Brass asked and listened to the response, "Thanks, Ben."

He hung up and Sara was bewildered by the look he had. "I asked one of the guys to do a little off the record background check on Dr. Doyle," Brass said. "He has no priors, not even a speeding ticket, which isn't uncommon."

Sara nodded, wondering where he was going with this. There was a knock at the door, followed by the door opening to reveal Mary standing with papers in her hands. "This was just faxed over for Captain Brass," she said, handed him the papers, and exited the room.

"He was married," Brass said as he flipped through the sheets. "For ten years to Dr. Michelle Thorne Doyle. She was a professor in Chemistry at the college."

He stopped flipping and produced a paper with Michelle Thorne Doyle's driver's license. He passed the paper to Grissom and continued, "One year ago his wife committed suicide. She slit her wrists in their bath tub while he was away at a conference. He found her decomposing body, still in a bloody tub, when he returned home."

Sara took the paper from Grissom and looked at the picture of the woman. She couldn't tell much from the black and white copy. "She was a brunette," Grissom stated, his attention focused on Sara.

Sara looked at the photo. "How can you tell?" she asked, perplexed, before reading the symbols on the license.

She handed the paper back to Brass. "But why would he do this?" she asked, directing her question to Grissom.

He and Brass were both at a loss. "Any chance we'll be able to get a search warrant for his house on what we have?" Sara asked.

"Hmmm….let's see. Fingerprints on locations he was known to frequent, a car that at least 2000 other citizens own, knowledge of anatomy, and vicuna in his car," Brass said, holding up a finger after reciting each piece of evidence.

He looked at Sara and shrugged. "I doubt it," he replied. "No judge will want to issue one against him for what we have. There are perks to being related to the mayor."

Sara sighed and moved around the Manicotti with her fork. "Wait," she said and looked up at the two men with the edge of excitement she always felt when she found a possible lead. "Angie Moore and Kimberly Witt were both members of the SPCA. Most likely, if that is where he is finding his victims, the third victim will also be a member."

Grissom nodded. "I'll cross check the member list with the names of those attending the meetings and see who has missed the last couple. I'll also cross reference the list with driver's license photos to see who meets the victim profile," Sara continued. "How long until we know when the third victim died?"

"A couple of more days," Grissom said.

She stood and handed the rest of her Manicotti to Brass. "Sara, sit," Grissom said and rose. "I'll get the folders."

She looked at him, surprised. "Two heads are better than one," Grissom continued.

"You're still eating, Griss," Sara said and motioned to his half eaten meal.

"I want some coffee," he stated and exited the office without waiting for an answer.

Sara raised an eyebrow but acquiesced by sitting back down. "What, Brass?" she asked, slightly annoyed. She didn't need to be protected, and she didn't need Brass making assumptions.

"He's tightly wound tonight," Brass stated and bit into a piece of the Manicotti.

'Yes, he is,' she thought and looked at the closed door. "Dr. Doyle was here earlier," Sara said.

Brass looked at her as if trying to read her expression. "The doctor flirted with you," Brass said.

"He asked me to dinner," she replied and fiddled with her coke bottle.

"Grissom's worried," Brass said. "You do fit the victim profile, and our only suspect appears to like you."

Sara shrugged. "I'm a big girl," she said and looked back at Brass. "I can take care of myself."

"Not saying you can't," Brass replied. "Nor is Grissom. We're just…concerned."

He closed the box of Manicotti. "I have some things to attend to back at the station," he said and stood up. "Tell Grissom bye for me."

Sara nodded and watched him leave. She looked back at her bottle and sighed. She spun the bottle on the table. "No refunds, returns or exchanges because once he's yours, he's yours for good," she sang softly to herself as she stopped the bottle.

Grissom walked back into the room with the folders and a cup of coffee. He handed her half of the list of members' names and the sign in sheets for three of the meetings. "Jot down anyone from your list who isn't present," he said and leaned back in his seat.

Sara looked down at the lists in her hand and bit her lip._ 'Eventually we are going to need to discuss whatever it is you are feeling, Grissom,'_ she thought before beginning the arduous task.

* * *

They had forty-five minutes until the beginning of shift. Gil Grissom removed his glasses, closed his eyes, and began to massage the area around them. Reopening his eyes, he focused his attention on the young woman seated on the other side of the desk. Her forehead was crinkled in concentration as she looked back and forth between the document in her lap and the other one she held in her hand. She tapped a pen on the side of her chair to a song that was playing in her head, her lips silently mouthing the words.

He had always valued Sara's work ethic. She was never one to shirk her responsibilities or complain about the rather mundane tasks they were required to complete. Instead, she would dive head first into them, rarely taking a break. He grimaced. _'Which isn't always a good thing.'_ Sometimes he wondered if she was headed towards a burnout. If she didn't find a healthy diversion outside of work, he was afraid that it would happen soon. And that was something he didn't want to happen, let alone think about.

Her words from earlier this week were haunting him._ 'Turns out he didn't think I was worth the risk.'_ She had no idea how wrong she was in that statement. She was worth the risk; he realized that now. He looked at the objects around his office. It was this job, this role as supervisor, that he slowly realized was not worth putting his social life on hold. In the blink of an eye, he had lost the team he had worked hard to mold over the years. That had stung and left him melancholy for a number of days. But the thought of losing Sara, of her becoming Dr. Doyle's next victim, was heart-wrenching. Grissom had a feeling he wouldn't be able to survive that. He shook his head in order to clear away the depressing thoughts.

He placed his glasses back on and looked back at the member's list. He was grateful that the organization wasn't too large. Many citizens of ClarkCounty and nearby NyeCounty donated money to the establishment, but only a fourth of those who did were full-fledged members of the organization. It was much easier to write out a check than to attend meetings and plan events. "I have a total of thirty-seven women missing from last meeting," Sara stated. "Twelve of them were absent from the meeting prior to that."

Grissom looked up and nodded. "Twenty-three missed the last meeting and ten of them were absent from the prior one," Grissom said and handed her the list of names.

"I'll start putting their names through the department of motor vehicles database," Sara said as she stood.

"Take a break, Sara," Grissom suggested and motioned for her to sit down. "Shift starts in thirty minutes. We're pulling a double and have no idea what the rest of our cases are going to look like."

She shrugged. "I really don't mind," she replied. "I hate being idle."

"I noticed," he answered, amusement evident in his voice.

He focused on her still tapping pen and she stopped, offering him a wry smile. "Have you always been this impatient?" he asked no one in particular.

Sara raised an eyebrow at him in response and placed the papers back down on his desk. "Yes, yes you have," Grissom continued. He scratched his chin, slightly bemused as he remembered past events. "If I recall you were asking questions ten minutes into my first lecture and didn't stop."

"It wasn't my fault that you didn't expand upon the significance of Locard's principle in relation to criminalistics," she said and smiled.

"It was the first class," Grissom pointed out. "I was supposed to be giving a broad overview of the course and explain the attendance policy."

Sara shrugged. "Like you cared about the attendance policy," she countered. "I still can't believe you put up with all of my questions."

"Your enthusiasm was…" Grissom struggled for the correct word. "...contagious."

Sara laughed. "I never did understand why you chose to take my summer class," Grissom said. "Forensics is a far cry from physics."

"Truthfully," she said. "I was bored. I knew I was going to be taking classes over the summer; they gave me something to do and my scholarship required it, but I didn't want to take another physics class until the fall. Nor did I want to do an art or writing class, which were offered in abundance. Your class was the only one that sounded interesting."

"Be thankful, if your class description hadn't been so compelling, I could be off at some university somewhere teaching physics," she added and spun her pen on the desk. "Instead I left my master's program and got a job at the San Francisco crime lab."

"Do you ever regret it?" Grissom asked, afraid of her answer.

Sara looked up at him. "Never," she answered truthfully. "I love my job. I've learned more as a CSI than I ever would have in the master's program."

Grissom nodded. "Do you ever regret moving to Vegas?" he probed.

Sara sighed. "There have been times," she answered and looked down at the pen. She looked up at him, her eyes locking onto his. "But I think I would have regretted not coming here more. What about you? What do you regret?"

Grissom pondered her question, unsure what she wanted to hear. He regretted a lot of things. "I regret not telling you about myotosclerosis," he settled on.

He watched her forehead scrunch in concentration as she deciphered the word. "Oto means ear, scler is hardening, and osis denotes a condition. You have a hardening of the ear," she thought aloud. "You're losing your hearing?"

"No. Not anymore," Grissom replied.

"You had surgery?" she asked, surprised at the revelation.

He nodded. "A few weeks after the lab explosion," he informed her. "I was getting ready to schedule it when you…asked me out."

"Oh," Sara said at a loss for words. "That's why you were gone for those couple of weeks over that summer."

He nodded again. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" she asked confusion evident in her voice.

Grissom sighed. "I didn't want anyone to think any less of me," he answered after a few seconds.

"We wouldn't have thought less of you, Griss," Sara said and shook her head. "We would have tried to help you, make it easier."

Grissom shrugged. He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. "I need to gather the assignments from Judy," he said and stood.

Sara nodded stood also. "Am I allowed out of the office?" she teased. "I'm sure Dr. Doyle has left the premises by now."

He glared at her and motioned towards the door. She smiled at him and ducked down the hallway to head towards the break room. Grissom watched her enter the room before beginning his trek to the reception desk.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks for all of the kind reviews. I'm glad that you all are responding positively to the story. A big thank you to Rouch for all her insights and help and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Fourteen_**

"Good evening, Ms. Sidle," Greg said as Sara Sidle entered the break room.

She laughed at his down trodden expression and pulled up a seat next to him. "Oh, come on, Greggo," she said and nudged him playfully. "Surely, you aren't mad at me."

"You failed us," Greg replied and looked into his cup of coffee. "You were supposed to be helping Nick and I, we were a team, united in defeating Warrick. But alas, you turned to the dark side." He ended dramatically.

Sara stifled another laugh and fought hard to put on a serious expression. She couldn't help herself and laughed again at his pitiful expression. "You were the one who invited me if I recall," she said once her laughing ceased. "_And_ I did call to wake you up so you wouldn't be late for work."

Greg nodded. "I suppose," he acquiesced, and switched gears. "Where did you run off to anyway?"

"Grissom called," Sara started.

"Oh," he said and raised his eyes suggestively.

Sara punched his arm and rolled her eyes. "There was another body," she finished.

Greg massaged his arm. "Oh," he said. "Same MO?"

"Yeah," Sara nodded.

"So, it's a serial now?" Greg asked.

Sara nodded in reply, and opened her mouth to continue but was interrupted by the entrance of Sofia. "Good evening," Sofia greeted and sat in one of the remaining seats. "Gil's getting the assignments."

Sara forced a smile, stood, and turned her attention to the coffee machine. Greg tapped her lightly and shook his head vigorously. "I wouldn't," he stated, pointed to the coffee, and made a face.

Grissom's entrance squashed any reply she had as she sat back down, and they all turned their attention to him. "Sofia, you have a sexual assault. The victim is currently at the hospital," Grissom said and handed her a slip. "Greg you have a burglary at a residence in Henderson. Sara, you can start logging in the SPCA names."

Sara raised an eyebrow. He still had two assignment slips in his hand. She frowned as Greg and Sofia left the room. "What about those?" she asked and pointed to the remaining slips.

"I have them covered," Grissom stated.

"You're going to cover two assignments while I stay behind in the lab?" she asked, her frown intensifying. "How does that make sense?"

"I think you'll be more useful in the lab tonight, Sara," he informed her.

She rolled her eyes and before he had time to react, grabbed one of the slips from his hand. "There's another burglary in North Las Vegas," she read. "And what's that one?"

He didn't answer immediately and Sara's eyes narrowed angrily. "Hit and run," Grissom sighed.

"And you were going to go to both?" she asked.

Grissom didn't answer. Instead he took the paper back from her. Sara leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. For a couple of seconds, neither of them moved from their positions. Finally, Sara shook her head. "This is stupid," she remarked and motioned at him. "You can't keep me locked away in the lab forever, Grissom. Eventually, I will leave and go back to my own apartment, _alone_."

This time it was Grissom's eyes that narrowed. "I believe I'm the supervisor, Sara," he stated. "You're in the lab tonight."

He handed her the list of names they had compiled and left the room.

_'I cannot believe he used the supervisor card,'_ she thought angrily as she rose from her seat. Skulking through the hallways she silently cursing his name with each step. She caught herself from cursing aloud as she collided with Catherine.

"Sorry," Sara bit out as she picked the papers up from the floor.

"You okay?" Catherine asked and handed her some papers.

"Just dandy," Sara said and placed the papers Catherine handed her on the top of her stack. "Thanks."

Catherine shrugged. "Why aren't you in the field?"

"Ask my _supervisor_," Sara retorted. "I'm sure he'll be able to tell you."

With that said, Sara walked away, leaving a confused Catherine in her wake.

* * *

"What did you do?" Catherine asked as she closed the office door behind her.

Grissom looked up from the evidence jar and sighed. "Hello, Catherine," he responded and removed one of the larvae.

Catherine shook her head and sat down. "I will repeat this one more time, what did you do?" she asked again.

"I'm afraid I do not know what you are referring to," Grissom said as he measured the insect.

Catherine made a frustrated noise before replying, "_Sara_. What did you do to her?"

Grissom looked up from writing down the measurement. "I told her she is assigned to the lab tonight," he responded and went back to recording.

Catherine shook her head in amusement. Talking with Grissom was a lot like pulling teeth. "Why?" she prodded.

"Because I believe her services will be better used here tonight," Grissom stated.

"Gil," she started.

"I don't see why this is any of your concern, Catherine," Grissom interrupted.

"Sara's a good CSI, Gil," Catherine said.

"Yes, she is," he said. "That's something you lost sight of a few weeks ago."

Catherine cringed when she realized he was alluding to her silence over Ecklie's punishment handed out in response to Sara's behavior towards her during the mail order bride case. "This isn't about my relationship with Sara, Gil," Catherine said. "This is about your relationship with her."

Grissom opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off. "Look, I don't know your reasoning behind having her in the lab tonight, but she is pissed," Catherine said.

She watched him frown and could sense he was struggling to answer her. "He likes her," Grissom finally said.

"Who?" Catherine asked puzzled.

"Dr. Doyle," he said, frowning.

"The mayor's nephew?" she asked.

"Our only suspect," Grissom stated.

Catherine nodded. "And you're afraid he might target her next?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"She fits the victim profile to a T, Catherine," Grissom responded.

"She's a big girl, Gil," Catherine replied. "How long are you planning on assigning her to the lab? Just today? A week? Until you have enough evidence to arrest him?"

Grissom didn't respond and Catherine sighed. "You have to trust Sara, Gil," she said.

She stood up. "Warrick and Nick will still work the burglary and the hit and run, but you need to talk with Sara," Catherine continued. "Even Rapunzel had to leave that ivory tower at some point," she said and left the room, leaving Grissom alone with his thoughts.

* * *

_'Gil Grissom is an insect-loving, commitment phobic, manipulative bastard,'_ Sara thought as she punched another name into the computer. She watched the computer screen, her eyes narrowed, and caught herself biting her bottom lip. She ceased the movement and frowned. Biting her lip let her know she was mad, really mad. Screw it, she didn't care, she continued to bit her lip. _'And Socially inept,'_ she added and jabbed another key.

She blew out a long sigh and looked down at the list of names. She had been doing this for an hour and had been able to eliminate seven of the names based on hair color and age. She had processed almost half of the sixty names she had compiled with Grissom and her anger hadn't dissipated in the slightest. _'Coward,'_ she thought as she typed in another name.

Sara waited for the computer to find the correct record and tapped her fingers on the keyboard. Deep down she acknowledged that he was trying in his own way to keep her safe, but at this moment to her it seemed as though he didn't trust her. _'Does he honestly think I'll willing put myself in a dangerous situation?'_ she wondered as she scratched off another name. _'How long am I going to be assigned to lab duty?'_

She shrugged and typed in another name. A movement behind her placed her senses on high alert. Archie had left the computer lab in a hurry after she had entered and she doubted he would return until she left the lab. She waited patiently and frowned when Grissom sat down beside her. She didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge his presence in any manner.

She could feel him waiting for her to take the first step, to be the first to break the silence between them._ 'Not this time,'_ she thought vehemently as she scratched off another name harshly.

"Sara," he started.

"Yeah?" she asked, her focus still on the computer screen.

Silence passed between them again and Sara knew what would follow, the three basic steps of the Grissom-Sara interaction. _'One, he'll bring it back to the case. Two, I'll make a smartass remark. Three, he'll say, "Good job. Keep me informed" or some variance and then leave without anything further. And the awkwardness will continue to grow.' _

"How many have you eliminated?" he finally asked.

_'Step one complete.'_ She almost smiled to herself as she completed step two, "The sheets are right there, Grissom."

He reached over her and took hold of the two sheets. Biting her lip, she waited impatiently for him to complete the third step. "Good job," he replied. "Keep me informed of your progress."

She nodded and waited for him to leave. After a few minutes she finally looked up at him. He hadn't left. "I'm not going to process the list faster with you sitting there," she bit out and looked back at the screen.

She heard him let out a sigh. "Sara," he said.

She looked back at the computer screen and closed her eyes. She loved the way he said her name, always had. "Grissom," she returned and looked back at him.

"I trust you," he stated punctuating each word.

She raised an eyebrow. "You have a funny way of showing it," she replied.

Grissom frowned before repeating, "I trust you."

Sara shrugged and looked back at the screen. "Okay, Grissom," she said.

His hand on her shoulder forced her to look back at him. "I do," he said, his eyes boring into hers. "I don't trust him. At all."

She nodded, waiting for him to continue but not expecting him to.

"I don't want to see you lying naked, covered in lilies, with your arms cut open," Grissom continued exasperatedly. "I don't want you to be another case I have to solve."

"Believe it or not, that isn't one of my nightly fantasies either," Sara replied dryly.

He glared at her and she glared right back. He looked away from her and frowned. She could see him silently counting before he looked back at her. "Look, I…" he stopped and his frown intensified.

She watched him struggle for something to say. She opened her mouth to reply but the look he shot her caused her to close it quickly. "There are no new cases right now," he said. "But, when you finish here, I could use some help processing the insects."

_'As close to an apology as I'll get.'_ Sara smiled, and nodded slightly.

Grissom looked relieved as he exited the room. She turned back to the computer and continued processing the list, her anger at Grissom slowly beginning to melt away.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you for all the reviews :o). Rouch is my hero, thanks for all your help, and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Fifteen_**

_'Stubborn. Hot-headed. Empathetic,'_ Grissom counted one Sara Sidle characteristic after another in his mind as he recorded a measurement. He placed the pupa back into the jar and pulled out another. As soon as they emerged from their pupae, he would be able to identify the different species found on the third victim and be one step closer to creating a timeline.

Over the last thirty minutes, he should have settled into a steady rhythm of measuring and recording the different pupae and larvae sizes. Usually, it took him five minutes to develop a rhythm to the process. But not today. Instead, he continually looked up at the doorway, waiting to see Sara walk in to help. It was distracting him, and no matter how hard he tried to control the anxiety, he couldn't.

Grissom frowned as he looked down at the pupa and then at the book he was keeping his records in. _'Did I record this one?'_ he wondered and counted the number of entries he had taken so far. Looking at the jars, he counted the insects inside to see if they matched up. He _had_ recorded that one. He shook his head in frustration. He needed to focus.

Placing the pupa back into the jar, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, silently counting to ten. Distraction was never a good thing. He despised being distracted by things. Usually, he was able to block them out, to focus solely on the task before him. Well, except where Sara was concerned. She had a way of distracting him from the first time he met her.

He smiled gently as he reopened his eyes and looked down at the evidence jars, remembering the day they met. He had been halfway through his spiel on the importance of forensics and what the class entailed, when her hand shot up. Everyone else in the class had either been writing notes or looking off into space. She was the only one who had sat watching and taking in every word he said. He had been startled when her hand had risen into the air. Her in-depth question about Locard's Principle had intrigued him. Her focused, thought provoking discussion about forensics after class had amused and delighted him. And her gap toothed smile had enthralled and scared him.

"Well, the victim says it was her boyfriend who sexually assaulted her."

Grissom looked up from his measurements, confused to see Sofia Curtis sitting in one of the chairs across from him. She smiled at him before continuing, "I logged in all of the evidence, it's being processed, and O'Reilly took the girl's statement."

Grissom nodded and looked back down at the insects. "Is there anything that needs to be looked at on your end?" Sofia continued. "Do you need help with the insects?"

Grissom gave her a smile and replied, "No," before looking back down.

"I called Brass and gave him the list…" Sara said, her voice trailing off as she entered the room fully.

Grissom looked up, nodded for her to continue, and motioned for her to take a seat. She hesitantly did and nodded to Sofia in greeting. "He's on it," Sara continued. "He isn't sure when he'll know anything. He can't really start calling anyone at this time of day. Hodges is still processing any trace evidence that we found."

Grissom nodded. "I think I'll process the sheets," Sara said quickly and stood. "You never know, I might find something."

She exited the room before he could reply. Grissom looked back at the insects and frowned. "I'm sure you can find something to do, Sofia," he said, harsher than he meant to.

Grissom sighed exasperatedly as Sofia exited the room. He removed his glasses and massaged his temples as his head began to throb. A knock on the door caused him to look up. "Yes, Judy?" he asked, looking at the receptionist.

"There was a shootout in the 7-Eleven parking lot on East Bonanza road," Judy said and handed him the slip. "One dead."

"Thank you Judy," Grissom said.

He stood up and left the room, intent on finding Sara. Looking down the hallway, he saw her walking towards the layout room with an evidence box. She stopped and looked at him quizzically. "Shoot out at the 7-11," Grissom said and showed her the slip. "Take Sofia with you."

She opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off. "Humor me," he said. "Please."

He saw her struggle with his request before taking the slip. "Fine," she replied.

Grissom watched her walk away before returning to his office. He closed the door behind him and sat in his chair. Closing his eyes, he hoped he would be able to get at least some work done.

* * *

"Victim's body found near the store door. He appears to be going into the store. Two gunshot wounds to the back," Sofia said softly to herself. "Was he running from the perpetrator, or was he unaware of anyone pointing a gun at him?"

Sara shook her head and rolled her eyes as she took another picture. _'How can anyone not find that annoying?'_ she wondered as she bent over the body.

"We can't touch it yet," Sofia stated.

Sara looked up. "I'm not," she replied and leaned closer. "There's something by the victim's head."

She took a picture and reached into one of her vest pockets for a pair of tweezers. She carefully removed the evidence and held it up for Sofia to see. "A receipt?" Sara asked and placed the paper into an evidence bag. "The time stamped looks like one…something…I can't read the other part of it."

She looked at her watch. "It's 2:15 now, and it took us thirty minutes to get here. The call was placed in at 1:30. So sometime between 1:00 and 1:30 am," she calculated.

Sofia nodded and returned to processing the scene. Sara looked up at the store and smiled when she saw the surveillance camera hidden underneath the gutter. She turned and flagged Detective Vartann to her. "Do you see what I see?" she asked and pointed to the camera.

"I'll have the manager give us the tape," Vartann said and walked towards the store.

"Receipt found underneath the victim's body. Is it his? Or was it lying on the ground and he fell on top of it?" Sofia said as she continued to process the scene.

Sara sighed. _'It's going to be a long night.'_

* * *

Sara breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled the Tahoe into the crime lab parking lot. Shift would be over in five minutes; she had no desire to stay and work further on any evidence. Her bath was calling her name enticingly, and she wasn't about to deny it her presence. _'I'll finally be able to get that bubble bath,'_ she thought and smiled as she turned off the ignition.

"Let's log in the evidence, and then I'll let Gil know where we are on the case," Sofia said unbuckling her seat belt.

"Sure," Sara replied and followed her to the back of the Tahoe.

_'Five minutes and I'm free,'_ she thought as she removed a couple of evidence bags. Closing the door, she followed Sofia into the lab. _'Just five minutes.'_

"I see you made it back in one piece," Grissom remarked from behind them.

Sara turned around and offered him a smile. "Yes, we did," Sofia replied. "The victim's wallet was missing, and he had just removed two hundred dollars from the ATM."

"Burglary?" Grissom asked.

"Possibly," Sara answered.

Grissom nodded. "We still need to look at the surveillance tapes," Sara said as the three started the trek towards the Evidence Room.

"I'm sure the tapes will corroborate the evidence we collected," Sofia responded.

Sara nodded and began logging in the different bags they had brought in. "_There_ you are!" Greg yelled happily as he entered the room.

The three turned, unsure who he was talking to. "You, my friend, have one hell of an admirer," Greg continued and punched Sara playfully in the arm.

Sara looked at him confused. "I can't believe Judy didn't stop you when you came in," Greg said. "Though, she probably couldn't see over the vases covering the reception desk."

"We came through the back, what are you talking about?" Sara asked.

"Come on," Greg said and pulled Sara out of the room, Sofia and Grissom close behind. "They came in an hour ago. Over one hundred red roses, Sara."

Sara shook her head at the overload of information. She stopped dead in her tracks as the reception desk came in sight. Vases holding red roses were placed all along the counter. They heard a loud squeal of delight followed by Judy rushing over to the group. "Isn't it romantic!" she directed at Sara. "One hundred and twenty roses in ten different vases."

Sara shook her head. "But…" she said. "What? Who?"

She looked at Grissom, her expression one of complete confusion. "Oh, sorry," Judy replied and hurried back over to the counter.

She returned a few seconds later with a small envelope and handed it to Sara. Sara looked at the envelope, her confusion growing. Her name was written on the envelope. She carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the small white card inside. 'Thinking of You' was embossed on the outside. Opening the card revealed the message written inside. She blinked a few times as she reread the words.

"Well, what does it say?" Judy asked impatiently.

"And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods makes heaven drowsy with the harmony," Sara replied. "I hope to see you again soon. Love, William."

"Who's William?" Greg asked. "Do we even know a William?"

Judy looked at the note and smiled. "That's Shakespeare isn't it? The quote he used?" she asked enthusiastically.

"It's from 'Love's Labor's Lost'," Grissom stated.

"Excuse us," he said, taking Sara by the elbow, directing her down the hall and into his office.

Sara continued her perplexed stare at the card as he closed the door. She looked up at Grissom, unable to read his expression. He also was intently looking at the card, his mouth scrunched, conveying his anger. She waited a few seconds, unsure as how to proceed. Finally, he snapped out of his daze and looked directly at her.

"I'm taking you home," Grissom stated and moved towards his desk, quickly putting on his jacket and searching for his keys.

"I think you're overreacting," Sara said and sat down in one of the chairs.

Grissom spun around, his mouth twisted in anger. "It's a note, Griss. And roses," she said and held the note up. "Nothing dangerous."

Grissom grabbed the note from her. "He's fixated on you," he spat. "Already, he's made two attempts to talk to you since your initial meeting. What do you consider that to be?"

"A way to show someone you're interested in them," Sara explained and shrugged. _'Something you wouldn't understand,'_ she added to herself, wisely not wanting to provoke him further.

Grissom glared at her, and she sighed. "Look, I'll grant you it's weird, but like Judy said, it could also be considered romantic," she said. "We have no proof he's 'fixated on me.' Maybe he just thinks I'm pretty."

"Or maybe he sees you as his next target," Grissom returned, his eyes narrowing. "Tall, brunette, extremely intelligent. I believe all of those characteristics describe the woman across from me."

"And I'm sure they describe a great number of other women in Vegas," Sara countered. She held up her hands in surrender. "Look, Grissom, I refuse to walk around always looking over my shoulder. I decided long ago not to let fear rule my life."

She looked down at her lap. "I'm tired," she said when she looked back up. "I just want to go home."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off, "If you want to bring me home, fine. But how do you expect me to get back here tomorrow? And don't you dare tell me that I have the next couple of days off."

Grissom didn't reply. He simply removed his set of keys from the top drawer and walked to the door. "Coming?" he asked and held the door open for her.

Sara groaned as she rose. _'Oh, this is going to be fun,'_ she thought as they exited the office. They stopped by the locker room, and she removed her purse.

"Sara, what do you want me to do with these?" Judy asked as they passed reception.

"I don't care, Judy," she replied without looking back. "Let whoever wants to, take them home."

_'Well, there goes my bubble bath again,'_ Sara thought as they exited the lab.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you for all the reviews :o). Rouch is my hero, thanks for all your help, and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Sixteen_**

The silence in the car was excruciating and comforting at the same time. On one hand it allowed them both to fall into the same routine allowing a sense of security to wash over them. On the other hand, it was the same routine they followed constantly. It would be strange for Grissom to openly talk about anything, and Sara acknowledged that she would wonder what had happened to the real Grissom. However, at the same time, it would be nice to break from this tired game of give and take. She sighed and looked out the passenger seat window, watching Las Vegas come alive. She always seemed to be the one doing the giving.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered to herself as Grissom parked the Denali in her apartment complex's lot.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and looked at him. His entire demeanor had gone rigid, his eyes narrowing as he focused on something outside of the car. "What?" she asked and followed his line of vision.

Sara's eyes widened as she saw Dr. Doyle talking animatedly with one of her elderly neighbors. _'This is not my day,'_ she thought, hung her head, and silently counted to five before turning back to Grissom. "I have an extra room," Grissom stated and reached to turn on the vehicle.

"No!" she shouted and grabbed the keys from the ignition. "We have no idea why he is even here. It's probably a coincidence. He's talking to Edna Davis, one of my neighbors. She has a cat. He's probably her vet. I'm _not_ letting fear run my life Griss."

"Sara…" he said, pleading silently with her.

"You don't understand!" she said, her voice rising. "If I run off and stay at your place, it's like I'm ten years old again, running to my brother's room, or the attic, or the tree house out back to get away from it all. I can't keep running away. I just can't."

She hiccupped and sunk into the seat, closing her eyes. She felt a hand gently caress her cheek and she opened her eyes. Grissom nodded at her and offered a small smile. She expected him to drop his hand, but he kept it where it was, continuing its slow, steady caress. "Will you at least indulge me in getting us out of here until he's gone?" he asked. "I doubt you have anything of sustenance in your apartment. Let's go to the grocery store. That should take some time."

She handed him the keys and nodded. His fingers traveled one last path down her cheek before he turned to start the car. Immediately, she missed the soothing movements. "And don't worry," Grissom added playfully. "I promise not to contaminate your place with meat."

Sara smiled to herself as they pulled out of the lot, leaving Dr. Doyle and their fears behind them for the moment.

* * *

Gil Grissom tried hard not to laugh at the intent expression on Sara's face as she studied the apples. He watched her continue her routine, picking up one at a time, slowly turning it over in inspection and then feeling every last inch of it for an unseen bruise, before placing it in the bag or back on the shelf.

"What kind of apple man are you, Griss?" she asked and looked at him. She hit him on the arm. "Are you laughing at me?"

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone inspect an apple so thoroughly; in fact I don't think I've ever seen you inspect evidence so thoroughly," he remarked, amusement in his voice.

She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the apples.

"To answer your question, I prefer the Granny Smith ones," he said.

She nodded and began to inspect a few of that brand as well. After choosing three more apples, she seemed to have decided that was enough and placed them in the cart. Grissom resumed pushing the contraption through the fruits and vegetable section, wincing slightly at the bruise forming on his shin. They had started out with her pushing, but after the cart had hit him twice, he had quickly taken over.

He watched her place a couple bags of salad into the cart and frowned. "How do you get enough protein?" he asked as he wheeled after her.

She looked up from her tomato inspection. "There are other sources of protein besides meat," Sara said and smiled. "As a scientist, you should know that."

"I'm well aware," Grissom said and took the bag of tomatoes from her. "But what exactly do you have?"

"I'm a pesco vegetarian," Sara replied and headed for the tofu section. "I eat fish, well, I rarely eat fish, and nuts, yogurt, tofu, garden burgers."

Grissom nodded and looked warily at the tofu. Sara laughed at his expression and proceeded to place various items into the cart. "Seafood?" he asked.

She nodded. "Whatever your heart desires," she replied dramatically and started towards the seafood counter.

Grissom raised an eyebrow and followed her. He eyed the selection carefully before deciding on a half pound of shrimp. "Will that satisfy your animal urges?" Sara asked as they left the counter.

"For now," he replied and followed her down one of the freezer aisles.

"Someone has a sweet tooth," Grissom remarked as she placed three cartons of ice cream into the cart.

"A woman must have plenty of ice cream on hand in case of emergencies," she replied.

"Really?" he asked. "Cite your source."

"Catherine Willows," Sara said and closed the freezer door. "She told me that after Hank and I…"

Grissom frowned at the mention of the paramedic and Sara's frozen stance. "Well, Catherine would be an expert in that arena," he said breaking the silence.

Sara forced a smile and looked back at the freezer. "What's your guilty pleasure?" she asked and pointed at the ice cream.

"I'm quite fond of vanilla ice cream with chocolate covered grasshoppers," he stated and smiled at the disgusted expression on her face.

"Sorry, all out of chocolate covered grasshoppers at the moment," she said.

"The vanilla with the fudge swirls then," he replied.

Sara removed a carton from the fridge and placed it in the cart.

"Sara, Dr. Grissom, what a pleasant surprise." All color drained from both their faces at the sound of Dr. Doyle's voice behind them.

Grissom pushed the cart forward slightly, blocking Sara from the man's arm range. He forced a smile. "Hello, Dr. Doyle," he said in greeting.

Sara merely nodded, taking an instinctive step backwards as the veterinarian came closer. "Shopping?" Dr. Doyle asked raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"We're getting ready to go over a case file," Grissom answered. "We thought it'd be prudent to eat something as well."

Grissom tensed as the man turned his attention to Sara. "Did you get the flowers?" Dr. Doyle asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"I wasn't sure what your favorite flower is yet," he said. "But most women like roses."

Sara nodded. "It was a little…" she paused. "Excessive."

"A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady," Dr. Doyle replied.

Grissom frowned. "We really do have to get going," he bit out.

"Of course," Dr. Doyle said and smiled at him. He looked back at Sara. "Until we meet again."

The two watched him leave and Sara shivered. "Okay, I'm scared now too," she said and looked at Grissom. "At my apartment building and my grocery store in less than half an hour is more than a coincidence."

"Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do. He hasn't violated any law," Grissom sighed. "Let's get this back to your place and we'll figure it out from there."

They started towards the checkout lanes, Sara keeping extra close to him.

* * *

Sara shifted the bags in her hand while she fumbled with the key a few times before finally opening the apartment door. She pushed the door open and walked in, Grissom following close behind her. Placing the bags on the kitchen island, she began putting away the perishable items, but stopped for a moment and looked at Grissom.

He was holding two boxes of pasta and looking at her kitchen cabinets as if he were trying to figure out a very intricate puzzle. "Go," she said and took the boxes from him.

Smiling at his puzzled expression she continued, "I'll put the groceries away, it'll be quicker. Go read or something."

He hesitated for a moment before walking away and taking a seat on her couch. "Can I get you anything?" Sara asked and froze at her own words.

Clear as day she saw him standing where she was now, answering her question with _'Sure. An explanation.'_ She shook the memory from her mind and turned to look at the real Gil Grissom. He shook his head, looking intently at the forensics journal in his hands, showing no sign of remembering the last time she had uttered those same words to him.

Sara turned back to her task and quickly put away the rest of the groceries. She placed the bags underneath her sink and walked into the living room. Stopping when she reached the chair beside the couch, she touched the back of it. Images of her openly crying about her past in front of Grissom replayed in her mind. She pulled her hand back. She hadn't been able to sit in that chair for awhile.

She looked around the room, silently weighing her options._ 'Desk chair is too far. Couch too close,'_ she thought, her lips scrunching in frustration. She needed to make a decision soon or she risked alerting Grissom to her odd behavior. Her eyes fell on the plants occupying the end of the island and walked towards them._ 'Water the plants.'_

She slowly completed the task before looking around the apartment for something else to keep her busy. She spied a small black duffle bag resting near her door. She pursed her lips as she tried to remember where she had seen it before. Then it hit her. It was usually underneath one of the seats of the Denali. _'Why is it in here?'_ she wondered before continuing to look for another task.

Her gaze swept over the living room before it landed on Grissom. He was staring intently at her and she inwardly cringed. She really didn't want to have to try to explain what she was doing and why. Grissom moved over on the couch, picked up another of the forensic journals cluttering her coffee table, and held it out in her direction.

Sara smiled and released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding as she took the journal from him. She sank down onto the couch and kicked off her shoes, tucking her long legs underneath her body. Silence passed comfortably between the two as they read their respective journals.

Sara became engrossed in her article and it took a few seconds for her to realize that Grissom had stopped reading. She looked up at him questioningly.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"I could eat," she said, marking her page with her finger.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked as he placed his book on the coffee table.

"Pizza," she replied.

It was Grissom's turn to have a questioning gaze. "I don't think we bought pizza," he stated.

"Nope," she said. "But we could always order some."

"I don't feel like making anything," she added and reached for her cell phone. "What do you want on it?"

"Cheese is fine," he said.

Sara nodded and dialed the number of her usual pizza delivery service. She placed an order and looked back at Grissom as she hung up. "Twenty to thirty minutes," she said and placed the phone on the coffee table. "So…"

She pulled her knees up to her, wrapping her arms around them as she rested her chin on top. She had no idea how to finish her sentence. "What do you usually do when you come home?" Grissom asked.

"Um…I water the plants. Make myself something to eat, take a shower to get all the grime and muck from the crime scenes off, listen to music, and then I go to bed," she answered. "You?"

"Pretty much the same, except instead of watering the plants, I feed the bugs," he said.

Sara smiled at the thought of Grissom feeding a room full of bugs. Then, she looked around the apartment, hoping something interesting would jump out at her. "Are one of those the plants I sent you?" he asked, pointing to the foliage on the kitchen island.

"No," she said. "It's in the bedroom."

"Oh," he replied.

She nodded and frowned at the lull in their conversation. "Your toenails are painted," Grissom stated.

"Huh?" Sara asked, looking down at her aforementioned toes. "Uh, yeah. I got a pedicure last Friday after shift." She could feel the heat rising to her face, _'Too much information, Sara.'_ It was an appointment she made on a whim after a long shift.

Looking up she noticed Grissom was transfixed on her feet, he seemed confused. As he leaned down slightly, her face scrunched into a question, "Grissom?"

She stifled a startled cry as he removed one of her feet from under her and brought it closer to him for inspection. He was studying her toes intently, his left hand holding her foot still, while his right hand's fingers traced her foot. "What color is it?" he asked, still looking at her toes.

_'Color? He wants to know the color?'_ She stifled a chuckle, it was so Grissom, leave it to him to do something that would look intimate, and turn it into an inquiry. "Uh, it's called 'sea breeze'," she said and reflexively tried to pry her foot away when he touched a ticklish spot.

"Tickles," she informed him.

He merely nodded and went about his inspection. Eventually, he released her foot and picked up the other one. His eyes traveled to her ankle and he pushed her pant leg up a bit. "Sara Sidle, the woman who promotes the use of nonoxinol nine when sleeping in a hotel, has a tattoo?" Grissom asked slightly amused.

She squirmed trying to get him to release her foot but he refused to relinquish his grip. He raised her foot slightly, allowing him a better look at the tattoo. "A flower?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said.

"I'm sure there's a story behind that," he replied.

Sara sighed. "College spring break trip in Cancun. I was drunk and don't really remember the circumstances behind getting it," she responded. "It was a right of passage, I guess."

She shrugged and off of Grissom's amused expression she asked, "What, did you never do anything stupid when you were younger?"

Grissom's eyes traveled to her tattooed ankle. "Never like that," he replied. "I was too busy winning everyone's money in poker games."

Sara raised an eyebrow, surprised that he had revealed something personal about himself. "That needs an explanation," she said.

"It's how I financed my first body farm in college. I'm not politically savvy so I was unable to obtain grants. I used my earnings from poker to fund the farm," he stated. "Poker is also a great game to observe people."

"And we all know how astute your power of observation can be," Sara replied.

"Well, it doesn't work all the time," Grissom said, his fingers lightly tracing the tattoo.

"Oh?" she asked, shivering slightly at the sensations his touch was causing.

"Sara…" he said, his eyes dark with a passion she had never seen in them before.

She opened her mouth to reply but a knock at the apartment door cut her off. "Pizza's here," she stated.

"So, it is," he said quietly, gently caressing her foot one more time.

"I got it, Griss," she replied as she reached for her purse.

He waved her off, stood, removed his wallet, and walked to the door. Sara watched him pay the delivery boy and take the pizza.

"Hungry?" she asked as he closed the door.

"Oh, yes," he said his eyes fixed on hers.

She nodded and instinctively licked her bottom lip. "Shall we?" he asked, placing the box on the kitchen table.

All Sara could do was nod.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you for all the reviews :o). Rouch is my hero, thanks for all your help, and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not own CSI.

**_Chapter Seventeen_**

The only thing Gil Grissom was sure of at this moment was that he had no idea what he was doing. He wasn't a spontaneous being. He preferred planning things out and weighing the different possibilities before deciding on an appropriate course of action. Maybe it was the scientist in him, he wasn't sure, but it was a system that had worked well for him over the years, and today he was throwing it away; or at least giving it a temporary leave of absence. And it was all because of the young woman anxiously eating pizza at the table across from him.

He watched Sara eat; mesmerized by the sensual way her mouth was devouring the slice. The past couple of years had taken a toll on both of them, changing them in ways that he thought were irreversible, yet she still held the same enigmatic qualities she always had. And lately it had become harder to resist the temptation that was Sara Sidle. Now, sitting across from her, it was damn near impossible.

Today he had already lived out an inkling of one of his Sara fantasies sans Dr. Doyle—shopping for groceries followed by reading quietly in each other's company. It wasn't anything grand, but it was the kind of thing he longed for in his restless moments. He blinked and focused his attention on her when he realized she was talking.

"—duffle bag?" she finished, pointing casually behind her.

Grissom turned and looked behind, understanding coursing through him as he saw that she was pointing to his duffle bag. "Extra clothes," he replied and took another bite.

"Someone thinks awfully highly of himself," she smirked.

Grissom ignored her comment and continued to eat his slice.

"Grissom, what's going on?" Sara asked, pushing her plate away from her.

He sighed knowing that eventually she would have asked _that_ question but wishing that it hadn't been right then. "I don't know what to do about this," he said.

She looked at him questioningly. "Okay…" she replied, uncertainty in her voice, waiting for him to continue.

Grissom frowned, trying hard to formulate his next words. "What I mean is, I have no idea how to proceed with…wooing you," he started.

"Wooing me?" she asked, and he saw her trying to bite back a laugh. "People still use that expression?"

He glared at her.

"I'm sorry, go on," she said, motioning for him to continue, a small smile tugging at the corner's of her mouth.

"I meant what I said in the park. I want to make this better," he continued motioning between them. "I miss what we had, the flirting, the easy banter, your smile. Do you know how long it's been since you've truly smiled at me?"

She shook her head and he continued, "The Todd Branson case when I called you away from the seminar."

"You said you needed me," Sara replied, her gaze on her hands.

"And I did," he said and reached for her hand. "I always do. Why do you think I asked you to come to Vegas to help me out after Holly Gribbs died?"

She looked up at him and he knew her own words from weeks ago were playing in her mind._ 'Why do you think I moved to Vegas?'_ "You were the only name I could think of, the only person I wanted to see," Grissom admitted, running his thumb along the back of her hand. "And then you were there, and you smiled at me. It was heaven."

She didn't say anything and he continued his gentle caress. "I didn't know you had feelings for me then," he said. "I thought I was merely an old friend and you would appreciate the chance to work at the Vegas lab. And after, I was short staffed and I didn't want to relinquish seeing your smile every day. I offered you the job and you stayed."

"Yeah, I did," her voice barely above a whisper.

"I mean it, Sara, I don't know what to do about this," he said.

"Neither do I," she replied.

"I thought you did," he said, remembering her answer when he rejected her dinner offer.

She shrugged. "I lied," she said and offered him a smile. It wasn't one of her earth shattering smiles, but it was a small step towards it.

"It should be rather interesting then," he said.

"Isn't it always," she said. He watched her lower her head again, fighting some inward battle. Sara looked back up at him and continued, "Is this because of Dr. Doyle?"

Grissom frowned. "No," he said firmly, squeezing her hand gently in emphasis. "It's because of many different lights finally going off in my head. I finally began to reprioritize my life. The job will not hold the same power it has over me for so many years."

"And when Ecklie learns about _this_ and threatens to put an end to your career, what then?" she asked, pulling her hand out from his.

Grissom looked intently at her and saw the scared seven-year-old girl peeking out of Sara's eyes, desperately wanting to believe what was being told to her, but putting up a wall to soften the blow of disappointment that she was sure would follow. "He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how," Grissom stated.

Sara nodded and he knew from her uneasy expression that he would need to work hard at rebuilding her trust in him. They sat in silence for several moments, each mulling over what the other had said. He watched Sara fight hard to stifle a yawn.

Grissom smiled. "I think its past somebody's bed time," he said, smiling gently.

She began to shake her head, but another yawn escaped her mouth. She looked back at the duffle bag and then at him, her eyes widening._ 'The sleeping arrangements are definitely something I don't know what to do about…'_ she thought to herself, wondering what he was thinking about as well.

"Spare sheets?" he asked and began to clear away the dishes. "The couch will suit me fine," answering her unasked questions.

He heard her release a breath of relief before leaving the room. He had no intention leaving her alone tonight after two close encounters with Dr. Doyle. When he turned around he saw her reenter with a folded sheet, quilt, blanket and pillow in her hands. She looked at him, a little tense. "I believe I'm the one who is supposed to be tense with this situation," Grissom laughed as he walked toward the couch.

Sara picked the pillow up and threw it at him. "You know where the bathroom is," she said. "Sleep well."

"Pleasant dreams, Sara," he said and watched her leave.

He raised an eyebrow as he heard her murmur, "You better believe it," before grabbing his duffle bag and heading to the bathroom.

* * *

Sara Sidle groaned and swatted at the offending object making such ridiculous amounts of noise. Hearing a dull thud, the noise became slightly muffled and then stopped. She sighed contentedly, rolled back over and snuggled down into her pillow. Her respite was short lived as the noise began again in full force. Letting out another groan, Sara turned over and reached for her cell phone. Her eyes opened when she realized it wasn't in arms reach.

She frantically searched her bedside table as the phone began ringing again. '_Not there_,' she thought as she listened intently to the sound. She reached under her bed and pulled the phone out. Flipping it open, she said a breathless, "Sidle."

"What were you doing that took me four tries to get you to answer the phone?" She smiled at Brass's voice.

"I was sleeping, emphasis on the word _was_," she replied. "What's up?"

"I narrowed the list down to three missing women that fit the victim profile," Brass stated. "I'm going to pay a visit to their residences to learn what I can from neighbors. Want in?"

"Give me an hour?" she said, pushing the covers off. "I need to shower."

Brass gave her directions to the first house and hung up. Sara placed her phone on the table and ran her fingers through her hair. '_God, I need coffee_,' she thought as she exited the bedroom.

She strode into the room and froze when she saw Grissom standing behind her kitchen island, drinking from a mug as he read some journal. Her sleep deprived brain slowly began to work, and she remembered that he had spent the night on her couch.

"I made a pot of coffee. Do you want a cu…" he asked, his voice trailing off as he looked up.

Sara pondered his awestruck expression before blushing in embarrassment as she remembered what she was wearing—bikini bottoms and a tank top that ended just above her belly button. "Let me just change," she replied and quickly walked back to her room.

Closing the door behind her she struggled to hold back the laughter that was bubbling inside of her, the look on his face was one she was going to remember for a long time. She threw on a pair of sweatpants and a Berkley shirt and walked back out. Finding Grissom reading at her dining table, a cup of coffee and a plate of French toast beside him, she spotted another cup of coffee and plate of French toast were set next to him. She took the seat and looked at the food before her.

"Breakfast, wow," she said as she picked up her fork. "I haven't had French toast in ages."

"Do you prefer syrup or sugar?" he asked and put the journal down.

"Uh, sugar," she replied and picked up the sugar bowl from the table. "Not as messy." She took a bite and smiled. "This is good," she informed him. "Brass called."

"I know. He called me also. There are three potential candidates for victim number three," Grissom said and sipped his coffee.

Sara nodded and took another bite. She watched Grissom take a bite of his portion and couldn't hide a smile. Here she was eating breakfast with Grissom in her apartment. A breakfast that he had cooked. And neither of them were fumbling for something to do or say. She was glad he hadn't brought up her lack of clothes from earlier and was surprised that he wasn't acting awkward with her after the event. Maybe something had changed in Grissom, because a few weeks ago he would have stumbled for something to say. Not that he was saying much now, but there was no strained silence between them. It was comfortable in a weird, yet fantastic way.

Sara looked down at the empty plate and then at Grissom. He was also finished with his toast. She reached for his dishes. "I got it," he said and waved her off.

"You cooked. I clean," she replied and piled his dishes on top of hers. "There are spare towels in the linen closet if you want to take a quick shower before I do."

Grissom's eyes clouded over before he shook his head. "Yes, thank you," he said and stood.

Sara watched him pick up the duffle bag before proceeding to the bathroom. She cleared the table, rinsed the dishes, and placed them into the dishwasher. She looked around the living room for something to keep herself preoccupied with. Moving towards the couch and she looked down at the folded sheet and quilt. She lifted the quilt up to her nose and breathed in, his scent filling her senses. _'I just might never wash these,'_ she thought as she scooped up the bedding, entered her bedroom, depositing them on the bed.

She laid down on the bed a smile playing on her lips. _'Maybe he really means it,'_ she thought. _'Perhaps he is willing to give us a try.'_

A knock on the door ended her musings and she sat up. "Yeah?" she called.

"Bathroom's all yours," Grissom's muffled voice said through the door.

"Thanks," she replied and grabbed her robe from the back of her door. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to leave the bathroom in her usual manner after a shower. No matter how much fun it would be to see Grissom's reaction to her in nothing but a towel.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you for all of the reviews. I love that you are enjoying the story. Special thanks to my betas, Rouch, who makes sure they're all in character, and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.

**_Chapter Eighteen_**

Gil Grissom frowned as he scanned Sara's bookshelf. Multiple Agatha Christie mysteries, various James Patterson novels, a well worn copy of Dr. Bass's A Death's Acre, and various books on forensics filled the shelves. She really did invest too much of herself in the job. He sighed and knelt lower, to look at the bottom shelf. He raised an eyebrow at the various books placed there. "Byrd's Forensic Entomology, Greenberg's Entomology and the law, Lee's A Fly for the Prosecution, and Smith's A manual of Forensic Entomology," he said as he ran a finger along each book's spine.

As he stood he wondered where the entomology book he had given her was located. Grissom walked away from the shelves and moved to the desk. He picked up the hand and smiled. There was a similar one on one of the tables in his town house. He placed the hand back down and shifted his attention to the insects display. '_Perhaps Sara would like to have a more active role in the insect studies,'_ he thought as he looked at the rest of the desk.

A knock on the door interrupted his musings. He heard the shower running and sighed. Grissom walked to the apartment door and looked through the peephole. He scowled, his eyes narrowing, as he saw Dr. William Doyle waiting patiently on the other side of the door. The doctor knocked again and Grissom thought of ignoring him when he heard the shower stop. The last thing he wanted was for Sara to deal with the man. Sighing, he opened the door.

He watched Dr. Doyle's expression change from delighted to carefully contained anger. "Looking over the case file still?" the doctor asked, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me Dr. Grissom, is it common for you to go to all of your employee's apartments and look over case files?"

Grissom fought to control any emotion in his face. "When the case warrants it," Grissom replied, his voice neutral. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to see if Sara was up for a late lunch," Doyle said and stepped forward, trying to enter into the apartment around Grissom.

Grissom placed his arm to the doorframe, successfully blocking the doctor's path. "We were just on our way out," he stated.

Dr. Doyle raised an eyebrow. "I believe it is Sara's decision who she wishes to go with," he sneered.

"Hey Griss, you left your shirt in the bathroom," Sara said, walking out of the bathroom with the article of clothing in her hands.

Grissom turned to look at her, to tell her to leave the shirt where it was, but Dr. Doyle took the opportunity to push his way into the apartment.

"I should be ready in ten minutes. Just let me put on some clo…" she said, her voice trailing off as she took in the scene.

Her trek from the bathroom had brought her almost to the front door of her apartment. She quickly tightened the robe around her body. "Good afternoon, Sara," Doyle said, offering her a smile.

"Dr. Doyle," she said in acknowledgement. She glanced at Grissom, who hadn't left his place at her open doorway. He was glaring daggers at the man. She looked back at the doctor and continued, "What are you doing here?" _'And how the hell did you find out where I live?'_ she finished in her head.

The doctor's smile grew and he stepped forward. Sara watched Grissom's fists clench, and she placed a hand up to stop the doctor's approach and, she hoped, to stop Grissom from doing anything foolish.

"I was wondering if you would care to join me for a late lunch?" the doctor asked. "I have a table at the Le Cirque."

"Sorry," Sara answered. "I have plans."

"With Dr. Grissom?" Sara watched as the doctor's congenial expression turned dark.

"We're meeting a detective to conduct some interviews," she replied evenly, refusing to let any emotion show in her voice.

Dr. Doyle turned his attention to Grissom. "You seem to take up a lot of her time," he said.

"It's a busy job," Grissom stated, his voice strained.

The doctor looked at him, his eyes narrow, before his face transformed into a smile. "Of course it is," the doctor said and turned back to Sara. "Another time then, my dear."

He took hold of her hand and began to bring it up to his lips. Sara quickly yanked her hand out of his grasp causing the doctor's eyes to darken and his mouth to tighten. "When there are no distractions," he finished and nodded his head at her.

Sara watched Dr. Doyle leave and wiped her hand on her robe as Grissom closed the door. She watched Grissom lock the door, looking through the peep hole for a few seconds before wheeling around. She couldn't read his expression as he walked forward. He took her hand and opened his mouth to say something. He shook his head and caressed her hand with his thumb.

"You need to get dressed," Grissom said, releasing her hand. "We need to meet Brass at the first potential victim's address."

Sara nodded and watched him walk to her window. She opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it. She turned and entered her room, despite the feeling of wanting to take another shower to get Dr. Doyle's presence off of her.

* * *

Tense. That was the only word Brass could think of to describe the air that encompassed Grissom and Sara. He watched the two walk over to him and wondered what had happened this time between the two CSIs. Whatever it was he was sure neither of them would allow it to compromise their work. He nodded to them in greeting. "I contacted the various women in the list Sara gave me. The three we're going to talk to are the individuals I was unable to get into contact with," Brass said and handed Grissom a copy the three potential victims' licenses. "The first is Emily Suter. Brunette, thirty-three years old."

Grissom looked at the different licenses and then up at Brass. "Emily Suter," he said and pointed behind him.

Brass and Sara looked at where he was pointing and saw a woman taking her bags from the back of a taxi. Sara leaned over and looked at the picture and back at the woman. "I think you're right," she said.

"Ms. Suter?" Brass called to the woman and showed his badge.

"Yes," she answered and walked over to the trio, pulling her bags behind her.

"Emily Suter?" Brass asked.

The woman nodded. "Could we see identification to be sure?" Brass asked. "I'm Captain Jim Brass, from the Las Vegas police department. And this is Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle from the crime lab."

The woman looked at him questioningly before complying. "What's this about?" she asked as Brass handed her identification back.

"An on going investigation," Brass replied. "You were one of the few people I was unable to contact."

"I just got back in," Ms. Suter said. She pulled her jacket back, revealing her Delta airlines pin. "I'm a flight attendant."

"Are you a member of the Nevada SPCA?" Sara asked.

"Yes," Emily answered. "I haven't been able to attend the last two meetings though because I was flying."

"Thank you, Ms. Suter," Brass said.

"Sure," she replied. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"What can you tell us about Dr. Doyle?" Grissom asked.

Brass raised an eyebrow at the way his friend said the doctor's name. "William?" Ms. Suter asked and smiled. "Of course. He's the director of our chapter. Wonderful man, very sweet. Though, he hasn't been the same since the tragic death of his wife."

"How so?" Grissom asked.

"He adored Michelle. She was his world," Ms. Suter said. "How would you feel if your world was suddenly ripped away from you, Mr. Grissom?"

Grissom didn't reply. "Thank you for your time," Sara said.

The young woman nodded and continued her trek to her apartment. Without a word Grissom turned and walked towards the Denali. Brass looked questioningly at Sara. "Don't ask," she sighed. "What's the next address?"

Brass handed her the directions. "Meet you there," Sara said and walked towards the Denali

Brass kicked some gravel from the sidewalk and shook his head. This case was definitely getting to his friend. He sighed and walked to his car. _'One down, two to go.'_

* * *

Sara fiddled with the Denali's air conditioning, desperate for something to do besides sit and brood as Grissom drove. The second residence had been a bust. The woman's job shift had changed from days to nights and she had picked up an extra shift that morning which caused her to miss Brass' call. Therefore they were down to one last name. If she was at the residence then they would need to wait for dental records to reveal who victim number three was. If she wasn't there, they would at least have a lead as to who their Jane Doe was.

Sara glanced at Grissom and sighed. He had spoken little since Dr. Doyle's arrival at her apartment. The ease she had felt around him earlier had left and she was unsure what to do or say. She knew Grissom was a man of little words. '_No, scratch that, a man who doesn't usually express what he is feeling,'_ she thought and looked out at the houses. _'Words he has plenty of.'_

This was a never ending rollercoaster. One moment, the two of them were on top of the world, beginning to open up to one another, and then Boom! Something happens and they were going in a downward motion._ 'Eventually the coaster has to go up again, right?'_ she wondered as Grissom parked the Denali behind Brass's car.

"Last one," Grissom stated as they exited the vehicle.

"This is the residence of Christine McGraw," Brass said.

"Wow, pretty nice house," Sara stated as they walked towards the front door. "She lived alone?"

"Yes," Brass said and knocked on the door. "Single. She and her brother inherited a hefty estate a few years back when their parents died. I'm still waiting for the brother to call me back."

There was no answer and Brass rang the bell. "No newspaper or mail build up," Sara stated and looked around the front steps.

She walked away from the steps and peered into one of the garage windows. "There's a Lexus in the garage," she observed.

"Are you looking for Ms. McGraw?"

The three turned to see a woman unloading groceries from the back of a van. "Yes we are," Brass said as they walked towards the woman. He showed his badge. "Captain Jim Brass with the Las Vegas police department. This is Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom with the crime lab."

"Holly Pirotta," the woman greeted.

"Do you happen to know where Ms. McGraw is?" Sara asked.

"Somewhere in the French Riviera," Mrs. Pirotta said. "She left sometime last month. She was very excited about the trip."

"Have you heard from her?" Brass asked.

"No," Mrs. Pirotta replied. "But I just assumed she was having too much fun to write or call. Why, is she in trouble?"

"No," Brass said. "Her Lexus is still in the garage. Do you know how she got to the airport?"

"Yes. A gentlemen friend of hers brought her," Mrs. Pirotta said. "What's his name? He's a veterinarian…"

"Dr. Doyle?" Brass asked.

Sara watched Grissom as Brass said the name. His hands clenched tightly into fists, but he made no other movement.

"That's it," Mrs. Pirotta said. "Dr. Doyle. She told me that he was bringing her to the airport so she wouldn't need to pay for a cab."

"Thank you, Mrs. Pirotta," Brass said.

"Anything I can do to help," she replied and then walked away with a bag of groceries.

"And it all comes back to our good friend, Dr. Doyle," Brass said as the three walked towards the cars. "I'll try and get in touch with the brother and see what Christine's plans were."

"I'll have Dr. Robbins obtain her dental records and see if she is our third victim," Sara said.

Both of them looked at Grissom. He merely nodded in agreement. "We'll meet up later," Brass said.

Sara nodded and started to follow Grissom to the Denali. The tension that Grissom had been exhibiting since they left her apartment was still visible. She sighed heavily as they both took their seats. _'We definitely need to work on our communicating skills,'_ she thought as they started back towards the lab.

* * *

Gil Grissom's mind was reeling. It was as if every emotion that he worked so hard to keep under lock and key was trying to break free. Some he didn't mind allowing to finally escape; the passion, desire, and longing that Sara brought forth from him were exhilarating. The desire to harm Dr. Doyle in some form, the level of anger and frustration that the mention of the man's mere name caused, were not. He gripped the steering wheel tighter at the thought of the doctor. Anger and frustration would do nothing but cloud his judgment, contaminate evidence. He needed to ground himself.

Grissom pulled the Denali into the parking lot and turned to Sara. She looked at him questioningly, concern for him etched in her face. He smiled at her. "I'm fine," he said and sighed.

She nodded and he knew she didn't believe him. Hell, he didn't believe him. "I'm going to find out if trace has learned anything and then start on the insects," Grissom informed her.

"I'll see if Dr. Robbins came in early. If not I'll call him," Sara said.

Grissom nodded and unbuckled his seat belt. "Do you want me to find you after?" she asked, her fingers touching his arm lightly.

"I could use your help with the insects," Grissom replied.

Sara nodded and unbuckled her belt as well. Silently, the two walked into the lab. Grissom turned to Sara, "I'll be in my--"

"Grissom!" Ecklie's voice reverberated throughout the hallway. "My office. Now!"

Grissom watched Ecklie walk back into his office and wondered about the twinkle in the man's eyes. "I'll meet you in my office," Grissom said to Sara and proceeded to Ecklie's office.

"What is it Conrad?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

"Have a seat, Gil," the assistant director said, a sickly smile on his face.

Grissom took a seat and waited for Ecklie to speak. "You're suspended," He finally said his voice full of jubilation.

"Excuse me?" Grissom asked, surprised.

"Sleeping with a subordinate," Ecklie informed him, his smile growing. "Really, Gil. Now I know why you were so adamant about keeping Sidle."

Grissom's eyes narrowed and it took all of his control to not leap across the desk and throttle the man. "On what basis do you make this accusation?" he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as he could.

"A concerned citizen brought it to my attention," Ecklie said nonchalantly.

_'Dr. Doyle,'_ Grissom thought. "Who?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," Ecklie replied.

"How long?" Grissom asked. He could feel his self-control beginning to break.

"We're not done here, Gil," Ecklie bit out.

Grissom could see him preparing himself for a long winded speech. "Fine," Grissom said and stood.

"We're not done here, Gil," Ecklie said.

"Oh, but we are Conrad," Grissom replied and left the office.

He walked straight to his office, intent on feeding his tarantula, and gaining back some self-control. He was surprised to see Sara standing anxiously inside.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I'm suspended," Grissom replied and removed some live grasshoppers from a container.

"You're suspended? What?" Sara asked, her eyes widening.

"I need to leave for a bit," Grissom said and placed the grasshoppers in the terrarium. "Work on what we have. Call me if you find anything."

"But, Griss--"

"It'll be fine, Sara," he replied and exited the room.

Sara let out a muffled stream of explicatives before walking out of the office, intent on confronting him. She entered the parking lot and watched as the Denali exited the parking lot. Breathing out a sigh of frustration, she mentally kicking herself for forgetting to grab her purse; she would never be able to catch up with him now.

"I am so going to kick your ass later, Gil Grissom," she muttered to herself before entering the lab.

Sara walked down the hallway, intent on asking Ecklie what the hell was going on. She gasped as she was pulled into another office, the door closing quickly behind her. "What the hell, Catherine?" Sara asked as she looked at the swing shift supervisor.

"I know exactly where you were headed, and that is the last thing we need right now," Catherine said and maneuvered her towards the chairs. "Sit. Cool down."

"I'm fine," Sara said, crossing her arms indignantly.

"Sit, Sara," Catherine pleaded.

Sara dropped into one of the chairs. "What the hell is going on, Cath?" she asked. "Ecklie just suspended Grissom."

"I know," Catherine said.

"You _know_! What do you _mean_ you know?" Sara demanded, rising to her feet. "Aren't you going to do anything? That man needs to be taken off of his high horse!"

"Sara! Sit!" Catherine hissed. "Dr. Doyle came to file charges against Grissom for sleeping with a subordinate."

Sara slumped into the seat, her mouth becoming dry. "What?"

"He claims to have seen Gil and you together at your apartment," Catherine hesitated before continuing, "and you were apparently not suitably attired for a meeting between colleagues."

"We didn't sleep together," Sara said, her voice sounding far away to her ears. She shook her head and looked down helplessly at her hands. "Oh god, Catherine. He stayed the night because we kept seeing Dr. Doyle everywhere; like he was stalking me. He slept on the couch! I had just come out of the shower."

"If anyone, it should be me who gets suspended," Sara finished and looked at Catherine.

"He's the supervisor," Catherine noted.

"But it's not in the employee guidelines," Sara insisted. "Believe me, I checked. There is nothing against interoffice relationships."

"Not officially," Catherine said.

Sara felt like curling up in a ball and crying; she felt like her life was spinning out of control. There was a buzz and Catherine clicked on the speaker phone. "Yes, Mary," she said.

"There's a Dr. Doyle at reception. He's looking for CSI Sidle. Do you know where she is?" Mary asked over the phone.

Sara looked at Catherine, fear evident as she silently pleaded with the woman. "I don't know, Mary. She's night shift. She shouldn't be here for a couple of more hours," Catherine answered and hung up.

She turned to Sara. "Stay in here as long as you need," Catherine said. "This isn't your fault Sara."

Sara nodded and heard the door close. '_Things were just starting to work out,' _she thought as she laid her head down on Catherine's desk. The stress from Doyle, the pent up emotions toward Grissom, and the guilt of his suspension all came to a head, and she let the tears freely sliding down her face.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you for all of the reviews. I love that you are enjoying the story. Special thanks to my betas, Rouch, who makes sure they're all in character, and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.

**_Chapter Nineteen_**

He was dreaming. There was no other way to describe what had just happened. Gil Grissom shook his head and removed his frequent rider card from his pocket. He handed it to the attendant and sat in one of the rollercoaster's open seats. _'Suspended,_' he thought bitterly as the ride began.

It wasn't as though this was a first. During the strip strangler case he had been 'given' some time off. That had stung, but not like it did this time. Ecklie's look of triumph upon informing him of his suspension had left a deep pit of acid burning into Grissom's stomach. The man had been entirely too jovial over uttering the words. He could have tolerated being suspended for any case related reason, but being accused of sleeping with a subordinate was frustrating.

_'We haven't slept together yet,'_ he thought angrily and then frowned as he realized he had used the word yet. Grissom sighed heavily as the car began to descend. His greatest fears were being realized. His professional integrity was being torn apart. All that he had worked so hard for over the last twenty odd years would be wiped out because of a perceived indiscretion; all because of his relationship with Sara.

He gripped the harness tightly, trying to let out some of the anger that was building up in him. _'I shouldn't have to choose!'_ he screamed inwardly. '_It shouldn't be my professional standing or Sara.'_

Grissom released his grip on the harness and slumped back in the seat. He felt broken. It was impossible to choose one or the other. If he chose work, he knew it wouldn't be the same as before. He knew there would be no easy way to continue working with Sara. Yet, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to let her move on. If he chose Sara, he feared he would turn bitter towards her, blame her for his professional loss, and ruin any good they had between them. It was a lose-lose situation, and each choice left him hurting the one person he had promised himself he would no longer hurt.

Catherine's voice from years ago rang in his ears. _'Gil…learn to be more politic.'_ Grissom's eyes narrowed as he mulled the phrase around in his mind. A small smile crept onto his face as the ride slowed down. _'I'll show them political,'_ he thought, disembarking and heading towards his car.

* * *

"He's not leaving," Catherine stated as she closed her office door.

Sara looked up at the swing shift supervisor and brushed the remaining tears from her face. "Huh?" she asked, slightly confused.

"Dr. Doyle," Catherine said and handed her colleague a mug of tea. "He's waiting around for you to come in."

Sara's face scrunched in annoyance and she blew steam from the mug. "He doesn't give up, does he," she muttered.

"I'd say he's rather persistent," Catherine replied. "Ecklie told him you came in awhile ago, but he hadn't seen you. Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone where you were."

"Thanks, Catherine," Sara said and offered her a smile.

Silence surrounded the two woman as each drank their beverages. "Dr. Doyle's the person who accused Grissom of sleeping with me, isn't he?" Sara asked.

"I believe so," Catherine answered. "Did someone else see you inappropriately dressed in Gil's presence?"

Sara shook her head as her eyes narrowed. "You know, he's really starting to piss me off," she informed Catherine. "The attention he gave me was cute at first, but then it was creepy, and right now, I could actually consider harming the man."

"I didn't hear that," Catherine said.

Sara smiled and sipped the tea. "I guess I should talk to the man," she said.

"Talk to, Sara. Don't confront him," Catherine warned the younger CSI. "We don't want to make this worse than it already is."

"Grissom's suspended for having sex with me," Sara stated angrily. "Which hasn't happened! How much worse can it possibly get?"

"You could get suspended," Catherine pointed out. "Or you could aggravate a suspect that appears--"

"—don't say 'taken with me'," Sara pleaded. "I've heard that enough over the past few days to last a lifetime."

Catherine nodded. "Want some back up?" she asked.

Sara shook her head. "No thanks," she said. "I need to deal with this by myself."

She put the mug of tea down and stood up. Exiting the office, she walked down the hallway intent on finding Dr. Doyle. It didn't take her long. He stood by the reception desk in an animated conversation with Ecklie. "Ah, here she is now," Ecklie said. "Sara, Dr. Doyle was looking for you."

Sara forced a smile on her face.

"I believe the two of you need to talk," Ecklie continued. "Feel free to use my office."

"That's very gracious of you," Doyle said, smiling happily as he looked at her.

Sara followed the doctor to Ecklie's office and closed the door behind them. "Who the _hell_ do you think you are?" she asked. Her voice was low but the anger was audible.

Dr. Doyle continued to smile gently at her. He reached a hand out towards her and Sara quickly swatted it away. The doctor's expression changed considerably. "What right do you have to make accusations like that to my superiors? You're ruining a good man's reputation for nothing," she continued.

Rage clouded the doctor's eyes and he chuckled. "A good man?" he asked and stepped towards her, causing Sara to take a step backwards. "Dr. Grissom is using you Sara. To him you are a young, beautiful play thing, and once he is tired of you, he'll discard you like yesterday's paper."

Sara felt her back bump into the wall and narrowed her eyes. "You have no idea what my relationship with Dr. Grissom is like," she growled.

Doyle raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand to her cheek. He moved to gently caress it but Sara yanked her face away from him. Suddenly, his hands slammed onto the wall, blocking her head in between them. "Do you truly think he could love you, cherish you like you deserve, Sara?" Dr. Doyle asked, moving closer, invading her personal space.

Sara placed her hands on his chest and pushed but he didn't move. "His life is his work," Doyle continued, one of his hands trailing down the side of her body. "Where is he now? How do you think he'll react to you once he is back from his suspension?"

She pushed against him again, intent on getting his hands off her. He didn't budge. Instead he leaned in closer, his mouth perilously close to her ear. "Are you worth the risk?" he murmured.

"Go to hell!" she said and forcefully pushed him away, sliding out from the confining space.

"Reality is a harsh truth. But it is one you must learn," Dr. Doyle said, reaching for her.

Sara slapped his hand away. "I would keep you from experiencing this pain, but I can see now that you must," Doyle said and sighed. "I'm sure you have much work to conduct, but remember my words; he can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

Sara glared at the doctor's retreating form. Unfortunately, she knew Dr. Doyle had accomplished what he had set out to do. Doubts were now lingering in her mind. Exactly how was Grissom going to react to her now?

* * *

Sheriff Rory Atwater looked up from the paperwork that he was signing and listened intently to the conversation occurring outside of his office. He heard his receptionist yelling _'The sheriff is not to be disturbed'_, followed by the door opening. Sheriff Atwater raised an eyebrow at the appearance of Gil Grissom and his receptionist who frantically was trying to close the door.

"It's alright Mrs. Green," the sheriff said and waved Grissom into the room.

Grissom walked forward and sat down in one of the seats in front of his desk. He had been expecting Grissom to drop by the office sometime this evening. "You know the rules Gil," the sheriff stated.

Grissom's expression didn't change as he responded, "There is nothing in the manual regarding relationships between colleagues."

"Gil, you and I both know the implications that a relationship could have in the courtroom. Defense lawyers would use your relationship with CSI Sidle to discredit all work that she partakes in," Atwater answered reasonably. "Her skills as a CSI will be called into question. As will yours. Marjorie Wescott already did it once."

"Sofia is more than capable of being in charge of Sara's reports and reviews," Grissom returned. "That should counter any claims about bias on my part and Sara's skill as a CSI."

"Grissom, I don't think that will be enough," the sheriff began.

"Then I will need to give my notice," Grissom stated.

Sheriff Atwater blinked. He briefly wondered if his hearing was giving out. There was no way Gil Grissom had just threatened to quit. The man was glued to the job. "Excuse me?"

"My notice, Rory," Grissom repeated. "I am not letting you or anyone else at the lab decide how I should live my life outside of work. I suppose I'll need to inform the different grant committees and trustees of my notice also."

The sheriff looked sick. "Listen, Gil, we don't want to lose you," he backpedaled. "You're important to this lab. We'll make this work."

* * *

Conversations were going on around her, people were walking back and forth, but it was all muffled, like a weird dream that she was unable to wake from. Sara looked down into the mug of coffee and watched the steam rising off of the amber liquid. A frown settled on her face as she realized that she didn't want to be there. Work was supposed to be her comfort, the one place she could go and feel safe. Right now, she felt anything but safe.

She looked up as Greg walked into the break room. "Bugman is suspended?" he asked Nick.

Sara looked back down at the mug.

"Does anyone know why?" Warrick asked.

'Because of me,' she thought angrily. It took all of her control not to fling the mug across the table. She looked up at Catherine, afraid that the woman might let the reason for his suspension slip. Catherine offered her a small smile of support before responding, "No."

"Who's going to be in charge of nightshift?" Greg asked and took a seat beside Sara.

"Isn't Grissom in charge of nightshift?" Sofia asked as she walked into the break room.

The members of both swing and nightshift all shook their heads. "He's suspended," Nick replied.

"What?" Sofia asked and sat down.

"That's what I said," Greg remarked and turned to look at Sara. "Hey, you okay?"

She tried to respond, but nothing would come out of her mouth. She looked back at her mug and fought back the tears she could feel building up. Keeping her eyes averted, she tried not to let her momentary weakness to be seen.

"It'll all be okay, Sar," Greg said, putting his hand reassuringly on top of hers. "Bugman is tough."

"I know," Sara replied, embarrassed that her emotions were showing. She forced a smile at him and then took a quick sip of her coffee.

"Ecklie hasn't informed anyone of who is in charge?" Sofia asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Typical," she muttered.

Silence engulfed the room. "I don't think anyone here is paid to sit around and drink coffee."

All eyes locked on the doorway, jaws slightly open in disbelief, as they watched Gil Grissom enter the break room. "Well?" he continued and motioned to the group.

"What…? I thought you were suspended," Greg said, articulating what everyone was thinking.

"I was," Grissom replied and walked towards the coffee maker. He looked back at Greg. "Is it safe?"

"Yeah, Catherine brewed some of my Blue Hawaiian," Greg explained with a grin.

"Uh, Gil, I think we all need an explanation," Catherine said.

Murmurs of agreement followed from everyone except Sara. Grissom looked at her. She hadn't looked up from the mug in front of her, and her hands were locked around it, the knuckles slightly white from her grip. He looked at Catherine. "I decided to become political," he said and poured coffee into a mug. "I talked to the Sheriff, and informed him if he had a problem with my personal life, then I would need to look for another place of business to work, and that I would need to take all of my grants and funding with me."

"Ouch," Catherine replied.

"Personal life?" Nick asked Warrick who simply shrugged

"Apparently, I bring in a nice chunk of money to the lab," Grissom continued and then looked at the slips of paper in his hand. "Sofia, you have a breaking and entering in Henderson. Greg, you have a hit and run on East Flamingo, between Mc Cleod Drive and Eucalyptus Avenue. Sara, Brass got the warrant for Christine McGraw's home."

When no one had budged, Grissom sighed. "Let's move people," he prodded. "These cases are not going to solve themselves."

Greg and Sofia promptly took their assignment slips and left the room. "I'm going to look over the photos from the Jefferson case again," Warrick stated and rose.

"I'll help you, Rick," Nick said and followed him out of the room.

Catherine rose from her seat and smiled at Grissom. "Getting your head out of the microscope and learning to play politics," she said. "I'm impressed."

Grissom watched her leave before turning his attention to the young woman still glued to her chair. "Sara…"

She looked up, her face void of any emotions. "I'm ready," she stated and rose.

Grissom nodded and followed her out of the room. They collected their kits and walked out to the Denali. "You drive," she said as they put their cases in the back.

He closed the door and looked at her. Anxiety was etched into her every feature. Nodding, he watched her walk to the passenger side. Concern drifted through him as he took his seat and started the car. They rode in silence while Grissom strained to find the right words to say. It was Sara who eventually broke the silence.

"I never thought about the political side of a relationship with you," she admitted, her eyes locked on her hands.

He cast a quick glance at her and could see her battling something internally. "You losing your job, your standing," she continued and then looked up at him. "This could ruin your reputation. And you've worked so hard for that. God, Grissom. If you want out of this…"

Her voice trailed off and she looked out the passenger side window. He looked back at her and could see the tears sliding down her face in the reflection. Without thought, he cut across the two lanes of traffic and pulled into the nearest parking spot. She looked at him questioningly.

Any response she would have voiced was cut off as his lips came crashing down onto hers.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you for all of the reviews. I love that you are enjoying the story and they sure do make my day. Special thanks to my betas, Rouch, who makes sure they're all in character, and CSI4nsicAce for making sure my grammar is correct.

**Disclaimer: **I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.

**_Chapter Twenty_**

Time stopped. No, it was more like the synapses in her brain that allowed her to function had ceased functioning properly. Nothing she heard or saw was being processed. All that mattered at that moment were her senses of smell, touch and taste. Only they were able to process what was happening. She tasted mint, Blue Hawaiian and another substance that she was unable to identify. 'I suppose I'll need to conduct further experiments to figure it out,' she thought, inwardly smiling.

His beard was rough, scratching her skin. At some point his hands had moved to her neck, massaging the back and sides of it. All she could do was cling to his shoulders, tightly gripping the shirt's material, as the kiss deepened.

They broke apart and time started again. The sounds of traffic became audible and Sara Sidle could see people walking down the street. She looked out the window, breathing unsteadily as she tried to catch her breath and understand what had just happened. It had been a very uncharacteristic Grissom moment. She turned to Grissom and wondered briefly if he regretted it.

He leaned into the driver seat, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, and his face impassive. She bit her lip and prepared herself for his next words. She didn't know what she would do if he said he was sorry.

"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous," Grissom stated without opening his eyes. "Ingrid Bergman."

Sara pursed her lips in confusion as she mulled over his words. Then, she glared playfully at him and hit him on the arm. "Is that your way of saying I was over talking?" she asked, incredulously.

Grissom turned towards her a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She laughed aloud and playfully punched his arm again, her laughter dying as he opened his eyes. They were full of sadness. She looked at him questioningly and he smiled at her. "I missed your laugh," he finally told her.

"So did I," she replied.

The ringing of his cell phone interrupted Grissom's response. He gave her an apologetic look before answering it. She watched him frown as he listened to the call. "We're on our way," he finished and flipped the phone shut.

"That was Brass," he informed her. "He was wondering where we're at."

"I suppose we should get to the scene," Sara murmured. "I'm sorry that we're going to be--"

"You're over-talking again," Grissom said and turned the ignition on.

She laughed. "Shutting up now," she said.

"Good," Grissom replied. "Don't make me pull this car over again."

Sara laughed again cherishing the playful side of Grissom that she hadn't experienced for a long time.

* * *

_'Succulent, luscious, delectable…'_ Grissom mentally tallied the words used to describe Sara's mouth. Unconsciously, he licked his lips as he glanced at her in the passenger seat. She was facing her window, lost in her own thoughts, as they silently drove to Christine McGraw's residence. He focused his attention back on the road and fought back the smile that was threatening to consume him.

He had been shocked by his own behavior. Never in a million years would he have expected to pull the Denali over and kiss Sara Sidle. Imagined, dreamed, yearned to do so, but actually carrying out the action wasn't possible. There were far too many obstacles, mostly his own cowardice, which needed to be overcome. He had been so afraid that once he had committed to the action, she would pull back from him and realize that he was too old for her, that she could do so much better. Only now was he beginning to realize she would never think those things.

Merging into the next lane, Grissom was reminded of something Tao Tzo had written, _"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength while loving someone deeply gives you courage."_ When Ecklie had broken the team up, it had ripped him apart. Catherine had been right about a family forming around him. The team was his family, and losing them had hurt. He had a feeling he would have simply walked away from the lab had Sara not still been a part of his team. Her constant presence allowed him to continue working.

He shook his head to clear away the somber thoughts and turned onto Oregon Way. Pulling the Denali into the driveway, he looked at Sara.

She smiled at him as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Ready when you are," she said, waiting for him to leave the vehicle.

Grissom nodded and turned off the ignition. The two exited the vehicle and removed their field kits from the back. Grissom nodded in greeting to Brass and looked to the other officer waiting at the front door. "Officer Choi is going to stay with you," Brass informed them. "Christine McGraw's brother is coming into the station, so I need to get back."

"What was he able to tell you?" Sara asked.

"Not much," Brass answered. "He confirmed what Mrs. Pirotta told us earlier; Christine is supposed to be in the French Riviera. He hasn't spoken to his sister in a couple of weeks, but he wasn't concerned. He's bringing in her itinerary so we can check with the airlines."

"He won't be able to give a visual confirmation of her body, Jim," Grissom said. "Her body was too badly decomposed, and the insects did a thorough job."

Brass nodded. "Dr. Robbins is obtaining her dental records," he replied as he handed the officer a set of keys and then looked at the two CSIs. "Mrs. Pirotta handed over the spare keys Ms. McGraw had given her."

"Have fun," he added and walked to his car.

Sara and Grissom looked at one another, wondering if the records would be a match to their Jane Doe or if this search would be a waste of time. "One sec," Sara said as the officer reached to open the door.

She knelt down and opened her kit, removing fingerprint powder and a brush. Thoroughly inspecting the knob for prints, she was able to reveal two partials. Using the digital camera, she recorded the prints and then tape lifted them off, scribbling her signature and the case information on the evidence bag. "Ready," she said as she closed her kit and stood up.

Officer Choi nodded and unlocked the door. The officer opened the door, his hand on his holster, ready for anything that might lie inside. "This is Officer Choi, with the Las Vegas police department," the man yelled. "We have a warrant to search the premises."

Silence was their only answer. The two CSIs hung back as the officer checked the house. "All clear," he informed as he exited the house.

Grissom nodded and he and Sara entered the house, the officer following behind them. Choi stopped at the entrance to the living room and readied himself for a couple of hours of standing and watching. Grissom walked into the room, looking for any sign of disturbance or anything out of the ordinary.

Sara passed him, made her way into the kitchen, placed her kit down, and opened the refrigerator. "Baking soda, mustard, ketchup," she listed to herself. She turned to Grissom. "Her fridge doesn't have anything perishable in it."

She closed the refrigerator and looked around for the trashcan. Opening it, she found it empty except for the trash bag. "Her trash is empty," she continued.

Grissom nodded and walked into the master bedroom. He opened different dresser drawers, only finding a few garments in them. He walked to the closet and opened the door. He sighed as he saw the numerous empty clothes hangers.

"Maybe she really is in the Riviera," Sara said hopefully, standing beside him. "Fridge is empty, trash is empty, and her closet and drawers are almost empty. It does seem as though she is traveling."

Grissom frowned and looked around the room. He walked over to the young woman's bed and focused his attention on the answering machine that rested on the bedside table. He pushed the outgoing message button. "Hi guys, its Christy. I'm going incommunicado for a couple of weeks, blowing off some steam in the Riviera. Email me," the young woman's upbeat voice engulfed the room.

"It doesn't sound coerced," Sara stated.

Grissom nodded and removed the machine. "We'll have Archie do his magic," he replied and placed it into an evidence bag.

Sara nodded. A look of confusion spread across her face before she reached into her pocket, removing her vibrating cell phone. "Sidle," she answered.

He watched her listen to the call, her facial expression resigned as she listened. "Thanks," she said and ended the call. She looked at him, an emptiness in her eyes that he wanted to wash away, and continued, "That was Dr. Robbins. Dental records confirm it's Christine McGraw."

The two cast glances at the master bathroom and then at one another. Without a word, they walked to it, Grissom removing the ALS from his kit. A quick sweep showed that there was no blood present. The two left the room and entered the guest bathroom, repeating the process and obtaining the same results.

"I'm not surprised," Grissom said, a frown settling onto his face. "The others weren't killed at their residences."

"There's no sign of any type of struggle," Sara observed. "It looks like she was packed and ready to go. She just never made it to the airport."

Grissom nodded and placed the ALS back into his kit.

"So, her bags are packed, she's ready to go," Sara continued. "Dr. Doyle picks her up and takes her where? Back to his place?"

Grissom shook his head. "We need to get a warrant for his house," he stated. "Unfortunately, we need proof that he was the last one with her."

"And Mrs. Pirotta's statement that Dr. Doyle was supposed to take her won't amount to much," Sara said. "She always could have taken a cab."

She watched Grissom sigh and felt an overwhelming urge to touch him. His presence gave her so much comfort and confidence when they worked together. Their close proximity to one another helped stir other emotions as well, ones that were not appropriate while working. She quickly squelched the feeling, reminding herself to behave professionally. "Bedroom or kitchen?" he asked her.

"I get a choice?" she asked, faking astonishment.

"For being a smartass you get the kitchen," Grissom said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered and started walking away. "You just want to check out my _ass_."

She stopped in shock as she heard him reply, "Well, it is a rather fine specimen."

Turning around, she watched him reenter the bedroom, a small smile on his face. Sara shook her head and proceeded on to the kitchen.

* * *

Sara Sidle rolled her head, trying to relieve the kinks, as she grabbed the last bag of evidence from the back of the Denali. _'Zilch. Nada. Nothing,'_ she moaned in her head as she closed the door. She and Grissom had failed to uncover any evidence from the scene except for a few fingerprints, sheets with some DNA, and the answering machine.

Entering the crime lab, she nodded in greeting to Mia, who was talking to Sofia, and continued her trek to the Evidence room. She groaned as her arm was grabbed, and she was pulled into the Trace lab. "People really need to stop doing that!" Sara yelled, annoyance evident in her voice.

"Well, if you don't want to know what I found…" Hodges replied and gestured to the door.

"Might as well tell me since I'm already here," she said.

Hodges nodded and motioned to the microscope. Sara walked over and looked at the fiber. "It's vicuna," he said. "Like the other two."

"You couldn't have just called?" she asked exasperatedly as she looked at him.

"There's more," Hodges said and pulled her towards the computer. "Not all the fibers you collected were vicuna."

"Oh?" Sara asked her curiosity piqued.

"Mixed in the sample was cat hair," Hodges stated. "To be more specific, a Russian White. The breed was created in Australia when scientists bred a Russian blue and a white domestic shorthair together."

"Okay," she said, willing him to get to the point.

"Anyway," he continued and clicked something on the screen, causing the printer to start up. "They are very rare in the United States. There are currently only five certified Russian Whites, and only one in the state of Nevada."

Hodges removed the printout and handed it to her. "Qetesh," he said. "Her owner is a Dr. William Doyle."

Sara read the paper, a smile spreading across her face. "Thanks, Hodges," she said and left the office.

She quickly logged in her evidence before proceeding to Grissom's office with the news. "You'll never guess what Hodges found," Sara said as she entered the office.

"Hi, Brass," she said in greeting to the Captain and sat in the unoccupied seat.

Grissom nodded for her to continue. "Vicuna, like we expected, but there was cat hair mixed in with the fibers," Sara said.

"Cat hair?" Grissom asked. "There was no trace of a cat in that house."

"Christine McGraw doesn't own a cat," Sara answered, handing the report to him. "But, Dr. Doyle does. A Russian white, extremely rare. There are only five registered in the US, only one in Nevada."

"Add that in with what the brother gave us, and we might have enough for a warrant," Brass said.

"What did the brother give us?" Sara asked wanting to be brought into the loop.

"He provided her itinerary," Brass said. "I did some digging, and she never checked into her flight or her hotel, which makes sense since she is currently housed in the morgue."

She nodded. "He also gave us this," Brass said and pointed to the cassette player in Grissom's hand. "This is the last message he received from his sister. He was golfing and the machine picked up when she called."

Grissom pushed play, and the three listened to the phone call. "Hi, Alex," Christine's voice sounded joyful. "It's your sister. I'm calling to let you know that I'm off. Finally taking that vacation I always dreamed of!"

"Christine, are you ready?" Dr. Doyle's voice could be heard in the background.

"Coming, William," Christine continued and laughed. "Will's taking me to the airport. I'll call you at some point. Give my love to Debbie and the girls. I'll bring back lots of gifts."

Grissom pushed the stop button. "We still need to electronically confirm that it's his voice," he said.

"Why did the brother still have the message?" Sara asked.

"He had called the phone and left a message about his golf score," Brass replied in mild amusement. "He kept the tape for bragging privileges."

Sara shook her head, "Men."

"I'm going to see Judge Hughes," Brass said. "He should grant a warrant for what we have."

The CSIs nodded in acknowledgement as he left. Sara looked at Grissom and smiled. "That's about all I can do at this point. I'm going to go over the evidence from the shootout Sofia and I are working," she explained and rose.

"I'll let you know when I hear from Brass," Grissom said.

She nodded and exited the office, a bounce in her step because they finally might be nearing the end of the case.

* * *

Sara walked down the hall, scanning the case file from their robbery. She was so caught up in the murder investigation that she wanted to make sure she wasn't going to miss anything on her other case. "I got your page," Sara told the woman sitting behind the desk as she entered the fingerprint lab.

Jacqui looked up from the fingerprint card and smiled. "I was able to get a print off of the receipt from the 419 at the 7-11," she said and flipped through a set of printouts beside her.

Finding the one she needed, she handed it to Sara and continued, "It's a match to a Michael Tamondong. He was in AFIS for a conviction of armed robbery."

"Thanks," Sara said as she looked over the document.

"I sent the receipt to Ronnie," Jacqui continued. "He's trying his magic on it."

Sara nodded. "You're the best," she told her and left the office, heading towards Questioned Documents to see what Ronnie was able to find.

She removed her cell phone, scrolled for Sofia's number, and hit send. After hearing the blonde's greeting, Sara began, "Hey, its Sara. Jacqui got a hit off of a print from the receipt. I'm on my way to QD to see what Ronnie has. Has Archie contacted you about the surveillance footage?"

"He was still working on it last I checked," Sofia replied. "I'm in the field. Call me if we get anything else."

"Will do," Sara said and closed the phone.

She entered the Questioned Documents room and smiled brightly at Ronnie. "What do you have for me?" she asked.

"The time stamp was 1:12 a.m., and it has today's date," Ronnie said. "The blood on the receipt made it unreadable to the naked eye, but I was able to perform some magic for you. A cigarette lighter, one bag of Doritos, and a water were bought using cash."

"Thanks, Ronnie," Sara said and exited the lab.

She continued her trek through the crime lab's hallway and entered the Audio/Visual lab. Archie sat in front of one of the lab's computer screens, analyzing video from the 7-11. He looked back at her and nodded in greeting. "I was just about to page you," he said and turned his attention back to the screen.

He rewound the tape and let it play. Sara took note of the 1:13 a.m. time stamp on the bottom of the screen. The parking lot appeared empty for a few seconds, followed by the victim exiting the store, cramming bills into his wallet. A second later, two men exited the store, one carrying a store bag, and walked up to the victim. There was a round of pushing, which led to a gun being brandished by the man with the bag. The bag was dropped to the ground, spilling its contents. The victim started towards the store, but could be seen falling to the ground. The shooter removed the wallet as the other man grabbed the contents of the bag and then ran out of the camera's view, the other quickly following.

"Can you get me close-ups of their faces?" Sara asked, squinting her eyes at the fuzzy picture.

"Already done," Archie said and handed her a printout.

She looked at the two faces and removed Jacqui's printout. The shooter was Michael Tamondong. "Thanks, Archie," she said, smiling.

Archie nodded and went back to work. Sara exited the lab and pulled out her phone again, scrolled for Detective Vartann's number, and pressed send. "Hey, it's CSI Sidle," she stated after he answered. "The video showed Michael Tamondong as the shooter. He's been convicted of armed robbery before. There was another man with him at the time. I'm going to have Judy fax the information over to you." She listened to him acknowledge the findings before hanging up. She stopped at reception, handed Judy the printouts, scribbled a note for Vartann, and handed it to Judy. "Can you fax this to the precinct, care of Detective Vartann?" she asked.

Upon confirmation, Sara turned, a small grin playing on her lips. It turned to a full blown smile when she caught sight of Brass entering the lab. He waved a warrant at her and smiled. "We got it," he said.


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks for all the reviews. I'm glad that you are enjoying this story. Which is almost finished by the way, I swear it is. Special thanks to my betas Rouch (what would I do with you?) and CSI4nsicAce.

**Disclaimer: **I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.

**_Chapter Twenty- One_**

It was inappropriate, it was unprofessional, but at that moment, Gil Grissom didn't give a damn. All he cared about was seeing the look on Dr. Doyle's face when he opened the door and was served a search warrant. It was petty and spiteful, but it felt so good. Thinking about the vindictive way the doctor reported the alleged indiscretion with Sara, Grissom realized how sweet this justice was going to be.

Grissom fought hard to keep a smile from manifesting itself on his face as he looked out of the passenger window into the glittering streets of Las Vegas. Daytime, nighttime, in Vegas these words didn't have the same meaning as they did to the rest of the world. The two were intertwined, seamlessly overflowing into the other. To the tourists roaming up and down the Las Vegas strip, there was no concept of time. They were simply in the moment, enjoying their vacation, as the locals of Las Vegas went on with their daily lives.

He turned his attention to Sara. After informing him of Brass' presence and the warrant, she had deftly removed the Denali's keys from his desk and took off. Currently, she was maneuvering the SUV along I-515 towards Henderson while talking with Sofia regarding the developments on their 7-11 case. He briefly wondered how she was holding up. He knew there had to be a thousand thoughts roaming around in her head. Sometimes, she was able to hide her emotions, creating an effective mask to help her as she worked. Her eyes were the only thing that gave away how she truly felt. Other times, her emotions were etched into every part of her being. Grissom really wished he was able to see her eyes.

Frowning, he looked out the passenger side window. Past the strip, the chaotic nature dissipated into relative normalcy. Parks, drugstores, groceries, schools, hospitals — all of the trappings of any other city in the country existed. And just like all of those other places, hidden inside the quiet walls of the Vegas homes were criminals. Grissom wondered how Dr. Doyle's neighbors viewed the man. Would they discuss the merits of the man, how he had saved their pet, helped them with their groceries, how they could never see the man hurting a fly, let alone being a killer? He wondered how his own neighbors viewed him. What did they think of the man who kept strange hours, who never had people over, and had strange packages arrive on his doorstep? Wasn't he the more likely candidate for being viewed a murderer?

Grissom was indifferent to what most people thought of him. Years of ridicule over his hobbies and interests had taught him to become a ghost, to blend in with the background and pursue his interests away from prying eyes. But Sara was different. He did care about her opinion.

His forehead crinkled in frustration. He couldn't be a ghost with Sara. He had never been able to keep her at a reasonable distance, no matter how hard he tried. She had been breaking her way through his defenses from the moment he met her. At first it had been welcomed. She was someone he could mentor and talk with, but then she had come to mean more to him and he hadn't known how to handle that. Truth be told, he still didn't know how to handle it. But he couldn't keep her at arm's length any longer.

The SUV rolled to a stop and Sara turned off the engine. "Penny for your thoughts," she whispered.

Grissom looked at her, his eyes unreadable. "Shall we?" he asked, leaving her question unanswered, and unbuckling himself.

She nodded and followed him out of the SUV, collecting her kit from the back of the Denali. The two walked over to Brass and the other two officers who were a car length away, waiting patiently for them. "Okay, boys and girls," Brass said, a wry smile on his face.

The group walked up the rock pathway to the front door. Brass knocked loudly three times on the door frame. There was silence for a few seconds and then Grissom noticed an upstairs light turn on, followed by footsteps, and the door finally opening. Dr. Doyle stood on the other side of the threshold, a blue robe wrapped around his pajama clad body. "Captain Brass, officers," he said and nodded to the captain before turning his attention to Grissom. His eyes narrowed as he continued, "Dr. Grissom, this is a surprise."

Grissom merely smiled tightly, involuntarily repositioning his body to block Doyle's view of Sara. "We have a warrant to search your house and your Civic," Brass said and handed the doctor the paper.

Dr. Doyle's eyes widened in disbelief, "A warrant?" he asked, and looked at the object in his hands. "For what?"

"For any evidence pertaining to the murder of Christine McGraw," Brass answered. "You need to step out of the house, sir. This officer will keep you company."

"Christine?" he scoffed. "She's out of the country. Somewhere in the Riviera."

"Nevertheless," Brass said and motioned for the doctor to exit.

"I'm calling my lawyer," Doyle said and flipped open the cell phone he was holding.

"That's your call," Brass said. "But I still need you to vacate the premises and let the CSIs do their jobs."

Doyle raised an eyebrow and looked around Grissom, finally taking in Sara's presence. "Still hiding behind your knight in tattered armor, I see," Doyle said, his mouth twisting viciously.

Sara opened her mouth to respond but Brass cut her off, "Dr. Doyle, I will ask one last time for you to move, or I will have an officer forcibly remove you."

The doctor relented and moved from the doorway. Grissom guided Sara into the house, Brass and one of the officers following behind them. "No emotions in here," Grissom said softly for Sara's ears only.

She glanced sideways at him, snapping on a pair of gloves, as she replied, "Same goes for you."

* * *

Many would say that the work of a crime scene investigator was dull and time-consuming. It required being able to stay focused on a task for a length of time, repeating the same methods over and over as you gathered evidence. One had to continuously have their senses on alert for any fiber, fingerprint, or clue. If it was missed, a vital piece of the puzzle could be lost forever and a perpetrator could go free. One needed to attack the scene methodically and without bias. It was the last part Sara was having trouble with.

She blew a stray piece of her hair from her face and slowly moved the ALS light over a bathroom sink. The three young women in the morgue had to have died somewhere, and wherever they had died there should be a great deal of blood left behind. It could be washed away and become unseen to the naked eye, but it was still there, waiting to be found. She sighed when the ALS didn't show any blood in the bathroom.

She closed her eyes and attempted to control her breathing. She was mad, and the longer she was in his house the angrier she became. There was no doubt in her mind that Dr. Doyle had murdered the three women. His obsessive nature and the manner in which he behaved towards her were signs of something dangerous beneath the doctor's congenial attitude.

Sara opened her eyes and moved to the bathroom window, looking down from the second story window to the front yard below. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the doctor on the driveway, talking animatedly to another man, most likely his lawyer. She turned away from the window and looked back at the bathroom.

She needed to do something about his behavior towards her. The whirlwind of activity over the last few hours had kept her distracted, but she wasn't going to let it slide. She crouched down beside her kit and removed black fingerprint powder and a brush. '_How many times have I counseled women on reporting abuse?'_ she wondered as she began dusting for prints.

She had begun the paperwork needed to file charges of stalking against Dr. Doyle when she had left Ecklie's office. The doctor's behavior had been inexcusable, and she wouldn't stand for it, but she hadn't completed the papers because she had wanted to heed Catherine's advice about not being hotheaded when dealing with him. However, at this moment, she wanted nothing more than to finish the paperwork and file charges of sexual harassment or some variance against the man.

Sara shook her head angrily. Unfortunately, there wasn't much that she could do at that moment. She didn't have enough evidence to accuse him of stalking. He hadn't caused her any physical harm, and he had never directly threatened her. She hated this aspect of the law. By the time a woman was able to show evidence of stalking, it was usually too late. _'I might be able to obtain a restraining order,'_ she thought, running the brush across the sink. _'But even if he violates it, I doubt he'll receive jail time.'_

She snapped pictures of prints she uncovered from the edge of the sink. As she lifted the pair, she listened to the sound of Grissom processing in the adjoining bedroom. She had a bittersweet smile as she knelt down, running the brush along the side of the tub.

"Anything?" Grissom asked from the bathroom doorway.

"I obtained some prints from the sink, most likely his, but nothing else," Sara replied, an air of defeat surrounding her. "No blood, no trace, nothing." She looked at the tub and then back at him. "And there's no sign of bleach either," she continued. "You?"

"Fibers, prints, but no blood or epithelial cells," Grissom stated.

Sara groaned and clenched her fists. "We have nothing!" she said, her anger shining through. "We have cat hairs and the vicuna sample from the car, but what does that give us? He could have transported the bodies. Hell, he could say anyone could have used his car, which I'm sure his damn cat has been in as well. And there goes the only two pieces of evidence we have tying him to the victims!"

"We have Christine McGraw's message to her brother," Grissom said calmly. "That shows he was the last person known to be with her."

Sara guffawed, "And you know what his lawyer will say, Dr. Doyle did bring her to the airport, dropped her off at the departure doors, watched her walk inside, and he has no idea what happened to her after that point," she said her voice rising to hysterics. "And we have nothing that proves that didn't happen!"

Grissom looked patiently at her, waiting for her to calm down. She looked away from him, her fists opening and closing as she tried to control her erratic breathing. She shouldn't let cases get to her like this, but it was so hard not to let them.

"Sara," Grissom began soothingly. "We need to look back over what we have. Maybe we're not looking at the larger picture correctly."

Sara looked back up at him and nodded.

"Meanwhile, Brass is going to interview Dr. Doyle. There are a lot of things he needs to explain," Grissom continued. "I have a feeling the doctor will reveal quite a bit about himself without realizing it."

She nodded again and began packing up her kit. She could feel Grissom watching her and knew he was battling something internally. "Sara--" he began.

"—I'm fine," she interrupted. Looking up, she could tell he wasn't buying it. She watched him watch her, hoping he would leave it alone. She didn't want to discuss how she felt. It wouldn't help anyone.

After a few moments, she couldn't take it any longer and broke eye contact. "I'm fine," Sara repeated, shut her kit, and quickly stood.

"Ready?" she asked as she walked through the bathroom doorway and into the bedroom.

She heard him pick up his own kit before walking past her and out the door. Sara followed him out of the room, silently cursing herself for the wall she had unwittingly just placed in between them. It wasn't just Grissom that needed to work on communication skills.

* * *

"My client is here as a courtesy to the police department," Ben Pierce stated as he sat down. He looked pointedly at the two men across the table and continued, "Please remember that fact, gentlemen."

"Of course," Brass replied, smiling pleasantly. "Dr. Doyle, please, have a seat."

The doctor ignored him and walked over to the mirror. "Tell me, Dr. Grissom, where is the lovely Ms. Sidle?" he asked and twisted to look behind him at Grissom who stared impassively at him. Doyle turned back to the mirror and tapped his fingers against the glass. "Why is she not allowed at the proceedings?"

"William, have a seat," Pierce said, trying to keep his voice even.

Doyle smiled and looked at the mirror, running a hand along the cool surface.

On the other side of the glass, Sara shivered. She knew he couldn't see her, but he was still able to successfully creep her out.

"Very well," he returned and sat down.

"What can you tell us about Christine McGraw," Brass asked.

"Christine is a smart, young woman, who is passionate about animal rights," Doyle said. "She is a vital member of the Las Vegas SPCA chapter. We miss her greatly."

"Oh?" Brass asked.

"She is currently on vacation in the Riviera," Doyle continued. "I told all of this to you at my house, Captain."

"I know you did," Brass said. "But, see, I sometimes need to have things repeated to me a couple of times, especially when what someone is telling me doesn't match up with the evidence."

Grissom opened the folder before him and pushed it to the other side of the table. A photograph of Christine McGraw's head lay on top. "Ms. McGraw was found dead," he said.

"Why is my client here?" Pierce asked closing the folder.

"Fibers found on her body are a match to Dr. Doyle's cat and car," Brass said.

Sara watched as Doyle and Pierce quietly talked before Pierce answered, "My client brought Christine McGraw to the airport on February 4. It is possible that she acquired those fibers when she was on her way there."

"Ms. McGraw never checked in for her flight or any flight after that," Brass said.

"I drove Christine to the airport and dropped her off at the Delta gate. I had surgeries scheduled, and I needed to prep for them. I couldn't wait around with her to check-in," Dr. Doyle explained. "You can check with my secretary. I was on time for work and performed two surgeries and five necropsies that day."

Brass nodded.

"You drive a Honda Civic LX," Grissom said, his voice void of any emotion.

"You know I do," Doyle snapped. "As I suspect a great deal of other Las Vegas citizens do as well."

"If you have nothing more than circumstantial evidence, Captain Brass, my client and I are leaving," Pierce said and stood.

"You're free to go," Brass told them.

"We are going to need to keep your car," Grissom informed.

"Whatever can help," Doyle said. "I'll simply use the Lexus."

Grissom's eyebrow rose at this bit of information. "Lexus?" he asked. "There is no Lexus registered under your name."

"It was my wife's car," Doyle said. "It was registered under her maiden name."

"Let's go, William," Pierce instructed and ushered the doctor out of the room.

Grissom looked at Brass and smiled. A couple of seconds later, his cell phone rang. "Grissom," he stated.

"I'll check what else is registered under the wife's name," Sara said over the phone. She smiled as she closed the phone and exited the room. Waving to O'Reilly as she exited through the back of the precinct, she removed the Denali keys from her pocket.

"Hello, Sara." She cringed as she heard Dr. Doyle's voice.

Sara turned and saw him leaning against the walls of the building. "You're a suspect in a murder investigation," she told him simply. "We shouldn't be talking."

Doyle ignored her and stepped forward.

"Hold it right there," she warned, her eyes narrowing. She reached in her pocket and pushed send, automatically dialing Grissom's number.

He stopped and smiled. "Beautiful, succulent Sara Sidle," he murmured. "Success is focusing the full power of all you are on what you have a burning desire to achieve."

"Wilfred Peterson," Sara said, citing the source of his quote.

"And I will succeed, my dear," Doyle informed her, smiling seductively.

Sara struggled with wanting to throw up or kick his ass.

"My dear Sara, do you have any idea how tempting you are?"

Sara didn't answer, readying herself to use the training she had learned from the weaponless defense classes.

The doctor looked beyond her and then back at her. "My ride is here," he said.

Sara watched him walk towards a blue Neon, making sure he kept a significant distance from her. Grissom and Brass exited the precinct, both slightly panting, as the doctor opened the door.

"Until we meet again, my dear," the doctor said, smiling at Sara. He glared icily at Grissom and entered the car.

Sara ended the call on her cell phone and smiled warily at Grissom and Brass. "I'm fine," she assured them. Even to her ears it didn't sound right.


	22. Chapter 22

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you for all of your kind reviews. Special thanks to Ms. Grits for providing a quote that is found later in this chapter. Thanks, as always, to my betas Rouch and CSI4nsicAce.

**Disclaimer: **I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.

**_Chapter Twenty-Two_**

_'How do I keep doing this to myself?'_ Gil Grissom groaned inwardly, scribbling calculations on the notepad before him. He flipped through the temperature reading printout and jotted down the mean temperature, converting it to Celsius. Sara was mad at him; well technically she was mad at him and Brass. His forehead scrunched in frustration, and he removed his glasses, rubbing his temples to ease the heaviness that seemed to have settled on them.

He closed his eyes as he ruminated on the last hour's events. Dr. Doyle had unwittingly given them a new lead — he owned a car in his wife's maiden name. Who knew what else the doctor owned under her name. Sara had left the precinct to begin processing the new lead and had come into contact with Doyle.

Grissom opened his eyes and looked down at the glasses resting on the desk. His heart had nearly stopped when he had answered his cell phone and heard Doyle's voice in the distance. He hadn't thought, merely took off running down the precinct hallway, Brass calling out for him. Exiting the back door, he had been able to breathe again. Sara was safe and Doyle was entering a car. She had said she was fine.

_'This time. This time you're fine.'_ That was all he could think._ 'What about the next time?'_ He had suppressed the desire to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. It wouldn't have been professional. Instead he had moved closer into her personal space and opened his big mouth, yelling at her for leaving the precinct alone.

For a second she stood stunned with her mouth hanging open. Then, all hell broke loose._ 'Hell hath no fury…'_ Words were exchanged and he was pretty sure she wanted to throttle him. Brass had gotten in between them and added fuel to the fire, telling Sara that he was getting a protective detail to follow her around. Eventually, silence had fallen on the argument. Sara threw the keys at him and got into the passenger's seat, leaving Brass alone, casting them both a sympathetic look.

Once they returned to the lab, she immediately walked away, mumbling a quick "I'll start researching," before vanishing into the lab. Grissom had nowhere else to go but to his office, where he had been for the last hour; calculating Christine McGraw's time of death.

He picked up his glasses and turned them around in his hands. _'What now?'_ he wondered. Was their relationship over before it had even truly begun?

"How long has she been dead?" Sara asked from the doorway.

Grissom looked up, and she offered a small smile, sitting down in one of his chairs. He looked at her, trying to hide his confusion. She was speaking civilly to him now? He watched her tilt her head, her gaze drifting far away.

"We need to figure out our personal boundaries when dealing with work," she said softly and looked back at him. "I'm sorry for my…vigorous response earlier today."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Vigorous response?"

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry for my emotional outburst," Sara conceded. "I have… authority issues."

"Really?" he asked, trying to keep the amusement from his voice.

She glared at him. "_You_ are not much better," she replied. "But when you yelled at me for leaving the precinct alone, and in front of Brass, I--"

"I was out of line," Grissom interrupted causing Sara to raise an eyebrow. "I let you leave the precinct. I was…" He stopped, unsure of continuing.

"You were?" she gently prodded.

"Afraid," he said, grimacing. "When I answered my phone and heard his voice, all I could think of was you being the next victim I processed. You were fine, and when I heard you say that, I couldn't help but think about the next time he finds you alone."

Sara nodded. "Brass can keep the detail on me," she offered.

"You weren't getting a say on that," Grissom answered.

Sara rolled her eyes and pointed at the jars of beetles. "So, how long has she been dead?" she asked, bringing the conversation back to more comfortable ground for the two of them.

"She's been dead forty-nine days," Grissom stated.

"She was supposed to be on a plane to the Riviera fifty-two days ago," Sara observed.

"He kept her alive somewhere," Grissom said.

Sara smiled and placed a printout on his desk. "I think I know where," she added with a sense of triumph. "Michelle Thorne Doyle owned a cabin in CalvilleBay under her maiden name. It belonged to her parents, and it was willed to her. When she died, Dr. Doyle became the new owner."

"I'll call Brass," Grissom said, picking up his phone.

Sara rose. "I'm going to see how Greg's doing processing the car," she said and started towards the door.

"Sara?" he asked hesitantly.

She turned around, looking questioningly at him. "Are we okay?" he asked, hiding any trace of emotion.

She smiled at him and nodded. "I'm not always going to agree with you, Grissom," Sara informed. "But that doesn't mean my feelings are going to change."

Grissom watched her leave, the weight lifting from his shoulders as he dialed Brass's number.

* * *

"I hate cars," Greg Sanders grumbled, scanning the ALS light over the Honda Civic's trunk.

He rescanned the trunk, silently praying that he had missed something in the first three sweeps, but it was useless. He wasn't finding anything else. He had collected a couple fibers from the passenger and back seats, but the trunk wasn't yielding anything. No blood, no fibers, nothing.

"Not finding anything?"

Greg jumped, startled at the sound of another human being so close, and hit his head on the trunk. "Damn, Sara!" he snapped, massaging the area that had impacted the unyielding metal.

Sara stifled a giggle and fought to keep a straight face. "Sorry," she apologized. "I won't sneak up on you next time."

He fixed the 'Greg Sanders hurt puppy' look on her and moaned.

"Anything I can do?" she asked, feeling slightly bad for causing him pain.

"You could kiss it and make it better," he teased, wagging his eyebrows at her.

Sara rolled her eyes as she replied, "You're hopeless."

"Can't fault a guy for trying," he said, his mouth twitching with laughter.

She shook her head at his playfulness. Motioning towards the car, she continued, "Anything?"

"I got a couple fibers from the passenger side and backseats. Nothing in the trunk," Greg stated. "I did notice something though. What do you smell?"

Sara leaned into the trunk, taking a deep breath. "Bleach, some kind of cleaning agent," she said, looking up at him. "He cleaned the car."

She walked around to the side of the car. Looking inside, her forehead scrunched in frustration, but Greg smiled as he watched her contemplate what she saw. "If he cleaned the trunk, he probably cleaned the coverings too," she started.

Greg nodded.

"Sara." The two CSIs turned to see Grissom standing in the doorway, keys in his hands. "Brass has a new warrant," he continued and threw the keys to her.

She caught them easily and turned to Greg. "Check the dry cleaners in a ten mile radius around his house. See if anyone brought in vicuna seat coverings. Expand the search if you have to," she said. "Okay?"

"I'll call you if I find anything," he said and watched Grissom and Sara walk away.

He smiled. _'It's nice seeing the two of them act like, well, themselves again,'_ he thought and closed the trunk.

* * *

_'He who angers you conquers you.'_ The quote by Elizabeth Kenny whirled over and over in Sara's mind as she drove the Denali. It was true. By allowing Dr. Doyle to get under her skin, she had given him a victory. Her anger at him had caused her to lash out at Grissom and Brass. In the heat of the moment, it hadn't mattered who had been on the other end of her verbal lashing, but now, when she was able to look back on the moment, she cringed.

She gave a sidelong look towards Grissom and frowned as she looked back at the road ahead. There might not be a murder gene, but she wondered if there was an anger one. Replaying their squabble in her mind, she wanted to take back every harsh word, every earsplitting note that had erupted from her throat. Her words were reminiscent of those she had heard her mother and father yell at one another. The tone, the expression, all of it had the markings of one of their heated arguments. She had managed to leave the violent household, yet it still had its hold on her.

Sara shook her head, desperately trying to clear it. _'Now is not the time to contemplate this.'_ She needed to focus. She owed it to the three young women in the morgue to find evidence that would put Dr. Doyle away for good. If she wasn't at the top of her game she could miss a vital piece, and he could slip away from their tentative grasp.

She parked the car at the end of the cul de sac, turned off the ignition, and looked at Grissom for guidance. His stormy blue eyes were focused on her, leaving her to wonder how long he had been watching her. She knew he was trying to decipher if she was ready. She looked away from him, once again afraid of the intensity of his gaze, and turned her attention out the window.

"Brass is waiting," she said and cocked her head towards the captain.

When he didn't respond, she looked back at him. He was frowning slightly, his eyes piercing into her very soul.

"Grissom?" she asked in an attempt to break his thought process.

He didn't answer, simply unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the passenger door, and exited the vehicle. Sara sighed, pocketed the keys, and followed suit. She waved at Brass and the other officer with him, before walking to join Grissom at the back of the Denali

She removed her kit from the back, and Grissom closed the door. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "You?"

Grissom nodded and the two walked over to Brass. "Officer Ververs checked the perimeter and the house; it's all clear," Brass informed the pair, forgoing any greeting. "Officers Jacobi and Lausch, your protective detail," he added, looking pointedly at Sara before continuing, "are staying in the area too. I'm sure you spotted them following you here."

"Blue sedan that was always two cars behind me, yeah," Sara said, the edges of her mouth curling slightly.

Brass raised an eyebrow at her lighthearted nature regarding the officers. She had been less than receptive to the idea two hours ago.

Sara smiled at him, her attempt at an apology. He nodded in return, and she felt relieved.

"Find something that'll help us put this bastard away, okay guys?" Brass urged as they began the trek up the stone pathway.

"We follow the evidence, Jim," Grissom stated, stepping into the threshold of the house. "But we'll try our best," he added, tension in his voice.

Sara hoped that they would find something to place Dr. Doyle behind bars where he belonged. Perhaps with the man out of the picture she and Grissom could finally have the talk they were in desperate need of, and then she could have her bath.

* * *

Grissom was irritated. He looked down at the ALS in his hands and grimaced. So far he had found nothing. There was no trace evidence and no blood in the front hallway, dining room, or living room of the property. He could feel his pulse rising, and the sound of Sara's sigh of defeat from a few feet away made it increase further.

"Kitchen?" she asked, rising from her position and cocking her head in the direction.

He nodded and followed her into the room. The two fanned out, he taking the drawers as she began cataloging the dishwasher, refrigerator, and freezer contents. All knives were accounted for and none were showed signs of blood, human or otherwise. His mouth twitched as his irritation grew exponentially with the closing of each drawer.

"Grissom?"

He turned at her voice, raising his eyes at the confusion emanating from it.

"Everything in the fridge…" she stopped, trying to formulate her thoughts. "Everything in the fridge and freezer is identical to what we bought at the grocery store."

Grissom walked over, his eyes quickly taking in the contents. She was right, the refrigerator and freezer were full of the same items they had purchased the day before. He looked at her and watched a tremor run the length of her body, before she forced a smile on her face. He knew that was her way of telling him she could handle it and he was going to respect her wishes.

He turned back to his task, opening the different cabinets and drawers, until he found the trashcan. He removed the small, black bin and began emptying the bag piece by piece onto the kitchen table. A water bottle, a bottle of bleach, and a rag were removed from the top of the trash bag. _'Someone has been doing some cleaning,'_ he thought, reaching further into the bag.

He pulled out four crumpled papers. Carefully, Grissom unfolded the first one, his eyes widening. On it Kimberly Witt was running after a group of children on a playground as they chased a soccer ball. He picked up the next paper, repeating the process, and revealed Kimberly Witt walking through a parking lot, grocery bags in her hands. The next showed her jogging with another woman, but the last caused Grissom's eyes to narrow dangerously. Kimberly lay on a bed, her eyes wide with fright as she looked straight ahead.

"I don't think she knew he was taking her picture in the first three," Sara observed over his shoulder, startling him. She touched the last one and continued, "She knew in this one, and she was scared."

Grissom collected the different items and placed them in evidence bags. He looked at Sara and without a word the two left the kitchen and walked to the next room. Opening the door, he heard her suck in a breath as the room came into view. In the middle of the bedroom was the very bed Kimberly Witt had been photographed in. He waited for Sara to photograph the scene before fully entering the room.

He walked over to the dresser as she moved towards the bed. Picture frames were placed on top of the dresser, and Grissom's eyes widened in horror as he looked at the pictures inside.

_Sara talking with Sofia outside of the 7-11. _

_Sara walking into the crime lab. _

_Sara walking out of the crime lab. _

_Sara picking out apples in the grocery store._

He clenched his fists tightly, squelching the desire to take each photograph and fling it against the wall. Grissom quickly removed his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Brass's number. "I need you in here now," he stated and hung up the phone.

"Grissom? What's wrong?" Sara asked, wondering what he had found.

"You can't be here," Grissom answered, turning to look at her.

"Huh?" she asked unsure of his previous statement.

"Grissom, what's going on?" Brass asked, walking into the bedroom.

"I want you to personally see that Sara gets to her apartment," Grissom ordered, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice, focusing his attention on Brass. _'She was his next victim. He was going to come after her next.' _"I need you to stay with her, Jim."

"Wait a second!" Sara interrupted, waving her hands frantically to catch his attention. "I think I get a say…"

"No, you don't!" Grissom bellowed, startled at the emotion in his voice. "_You_ were next, Sara," he said, his breathing rapid, as he picked up one of the photographs. He held it out for them to see. "You were his next victim. He took photographs of you just like the ones we found of Kimberly Witt in the trash can."

Sara looked at the picture in his hand, her mouth dropping open in astonishment. "You can't be here any longer," Grissom continued. "As supervisor, I cannot let you work on this case. Any evidence that you collect from this point will be considered biased."

She merely nodded, offering no resistance, and he turned his attention to Brass. "I need you to take her home and stay with her," Grissom said. "You, Jim, not one of the other officers. I need to know she's safe."

"Do you want me to call Greg or Sofia?" Sara asked her voice barely above a whisper.

Grissom shook his head. "No," he replied. "Call me when you get to your apartment."

She nodded and bent over to collect her kit. "Just leave it, Sara," he murmured.

She nodded again, rising unsteadily and looking at him with wide eyes. At that moment, Grissom wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and kiss away all the fear and uncertainty. She smiled crookedly at him before walking out of the room. "I won't leave her side," Brass assured him and followed her.

Grissom's eyes grew dark as he looked back at the picture in his hands. He wasn't leaving the house until he found enough to put Dr. Doyle away for good.


	23. Chapter 23

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. They all mean a lot to me. Special thanks to my betas, Rouch and CSI4nsicAce.

**Disclaimer: **I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.

**_Chapter Twenty-Three_**

Control, order, restraint, focus. These were the cornerstones of Gil Grissom's life. As a CSI, he saw the horrible actions human beings enacted upon one another. In order to deal with the harsh reality, he had created the wall, locking away his emotions so that he could focus his energy on finding the evidence. Otherwise, he knew he would risk becoming emotionally involved in the case and burnout would be sure to follow. It had taken him a lifetime to build the perfect wall that contained his emotions, and it was taking less than a week for the wall to come crumbling down.

Grissom snapped the evidence bag shut, his mouth tight with anger, and scribbled his name and the case information. A year ago, it hadn't been Debbie Marlin's face that he saw when looking at the body on the floor. It had been Sara's face. Sara's throat slashed. Sara's blood pooled beneath her body. Never Debbie's. He had worked the house meticulously, going over every inch of it five or six times. He had wanted no one else there. No one to get in his way, no one to see the trouble he was having; the toll the case was taking on him. Just like he didn't want anyone else processing the current scene with him.

The difference this time around was that it wasn't his subconscious playing tricks on him; it really was Sara's face in the pictures he was finding. Sara had almost been the next body he had to process. Images of her naked with lilies covering her body filled his head, her brown hair splayed behind her head, her appearance almost angelic except for the two long gashes on both arms.

Grissom shook his head in an attempt to remove all wandering thoughts. He needed to focus on the task at hand. All of his energy needed to be directed at finding the evidence. _'If I overlook even the smallest thing…'_ He frowned. _That_ would not happen. He would not leave the house until he had everything.

As he knelt, his muscles groaned in protest. Not since the Debbie Marlin case had he processed to the point of physical pain. Pushing his discomfort to the back of his mind, he used the flashlight to scan under the bed. The light landed on two suitcases pushed to the wall in a halfhearted attempt to remove them from sight. Groaning, he laid flat on the floor and reached out, grasping the closest bag, and pulled. He raised an eyebrow at the effort it took to pull the bag from the bed. _'It's full_,' he observed, placing it on the mattress and scanning the surface, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Running his gloved fingers over the gold letters CMG that were embroidered in the middle of the bag, Grissom turned it over, a smile forming on his face as he located the address slip attached to one handle._ 'One of Christine McGraw's missing bags.'_ He opened the bag and found various types of women's clothing neatly packed. Pulling the bed away from the wall, he walked around to the other side of the bed and pulled out the other bag. Like the larger one, it had embroidered letters, and Christine McGraw's address attached to it. Upon opening it, he found a plethora of cosmetic supplies.

The doctor's story of bringing Christine to the airport was beginning to unravel. What reason could he have for keeping her suitcases under a bed in his dead wife's house? He turned his attention to the closet located on the other side of the bed.

Grissom's eyes narrowed as he opened the closet doors. He _knew_ the clothing that hung on the handful of hangers in the closet. He had seen them repeatedly over the years, memorizing their every detail, cataloguing the different texture and color of each. His fingers moved to the multicolored scarf that was wrapped around one of the hangers, and he brought it to his nose, breathing deeply. Sara's scent filled his nose, and he yanked the scarf, sending the hanger falling, landing with a thump against a box that lay on the closet floor.

Grissom knelt and roughly opened the box, his heart rate accelerating as he surveyed the contents. New bottles of perfume, body wash, shampoo, and conditioner were packed neatly inside. He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the one touch number he had assigned to Sara's cell.

"Grissom? We haven't made it to my apartment yet," she said, confusion and slight annoyance evident in her voice.

"What shampoo and conditioner do you use?" Grissom asked, dreading the answer he feared he already knew.

Her reply confirmed his suspicion as he warily eyed the bottles in the box.

"Why?" she asked.

"Where did you last see that scarf you always wear? The multicolored one?" Grissom asked.

"Grissom what's going on?" Sara demanded.

"He has some of your clothes," Grissom said, staring at the scarf on the floor. "And he bought the brands you use."

"What do you mean he has some of my clothes?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

"A multicolored scarf that you wear whenever it's cold. Your red tank top with the white material around the arms and neck. The blue one with the buttons on the left shoulder," Grissom replied, looking up at the clothing. "There's more than that."

"But how do you know they're mine?" she asked.

"Your scent is on the scarf," he told her seriously.

"How could he have gotten into my apartment, Grissom?" she asked, trepidation filling every word.

"I don't know, Sara," he said, trying to sound soothing. "Let me talk to Jim."

After a few seconds, Brass' voice came on the line. "Gil, what's going on?"

"The bastard has some of her clothes here," Grissom said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. "He's been in her apartment, Jim."

"What do you want me to do, Gil?" Brass asked.

"Take her to the lab, stay with her. I'm going to call Greg and have him process Sara's apartment," Grissom instructed. "I'll let him know what we're looking for. Sara will need to give him keys."

"Not a problem," Brass answered. "She wants to talk with you," he added.

A moment later, Sara's voice came over the line, "Lab?"

"Stay there," Grissom ordered. "I don't want to hear about you stepping one foot outside of it. Stay with Brass."

"Grissom--" she started to protest.

"I mean it, Sara," Grissom interrupted. "He _wants_ you. Stay with Brass in the lab. Work as much evidence as you want. Start going over an old case file, I don't care. But you are staying with Brass, and you are not leaving the lab."

Her frustrated breathing was his only answer.

"Sara, please," he pleaded, looking frantically at the clothing in the closet.

Slowly she surrendered, "Fine."

"Promise me," he said, willing her to do so.

"Grissom…fine, I promise," she exhaled deeply. "You better collect enough evidence to put Dr. Doyle away for good because I am not going to live like a prisoner, Grissom. I won't do it."

"I know," Grissom replied. "I know."

He heard her end the call and sighed, turning his attention back to his task. He needed to gather the evidence carefully and quickly because knowing Sara, she wouldn't allow being confined to the lab for very long.

* * *

After an hour wasted pouring over the evidence from the three cases again, Sara had decided to look more closely at the death of Dr. Doyle's wife. It had taken half an hour for the correct file to be located and then another fifteen minutes before she had finally been able to look at it. Now that she finally had it in front of her, she wanted to focus her attention and see what information she could gather from it that might be useful. Unfortunately, Brass was making her task rather difficult.

_'Put the pencil down!'_ Sara willed with her mind as she directed her patented glare at Brass. The tapping stopped, and she returned her attention to the case file in front of her. She flipped to the autopsy report and began reading. _'Xanax in her system and her left Ulnar artery was cut.'_ Flipping through the report, she located the autopsy photographs and removed them for a closer look.

The cut on the arm did visually match those present on the three victims; however, the one she was currently examining lacked the precision. _'There's only one way to be sure,' _she thought and flipped back through the report, looking for which coroner performed Michelle Thorne Doyle's autopsy. 'Dr. Robbins,' she read, stood, and began her trek towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Brass asked, rising quickly from his seat.

"I need to speak with Dr. Robbins," Sara replied.

Brass caught up with her and looked quizzically at the file in her hand. "Find something interesting?" he asked as they traveled the crime lab hallways.

"I don't know yet," she answered and pushed open the autopsy bay doors. "Hey, Dr. Robbins," she greeted.

Robbins looked up from the report he was typing. "What brings the two of you here?" he asked, quickly saving the document.

"You did the autopsy on Michelle Thorne Doyle," Sara said and handed him the file.

He quickly looked over the report and cringed. "I remember this one," he told her as he removed the photographs. "I found Xanax and heparin in her system. Heparin is a powerful anticoagulant found in hospitals and research laboratories. I believe it was determined that she took it from one of the university labs. Her left Ulnar artery was severed, and with the anticoagulant running through her system, she died of exsanguination."

The doctor placed the photographs back in the file and handed it to Sara. "The cuts are not the same as Christine McGraw's and Kimberly Witt's," he explained, reading her mind. "The blade from this one was much thicker, and the cut was not as precise. She actually exacted two cuts on her arm to successfully cut the artery. On the other two women, each cut was precise, and a smaller blade, most likely a scalpel, was used."

"Thanks," Sara said and began walking towards the door, Brass trailing after her.

"Did you get what you needed?" Brass asked as they reentered the Evidence room.

"Mhm," was her only answer as she thumbed through the file again.

Brass sighed and sat in Grissom's chair, looking around the office for anything that might hold his attention. _'This is going to be a very long morning.'_

* * *

_'He who restrains his anger overcomes his greatest enemy.'_ Grissom kept repeating that phrase over and over in his mind. He needed to rein in his anger; it would only hinder the investigation. . He needed to focus on the house, on collecting the evidence. If he didn't, he could miss something, and Dr. Doyle could be freed because of a technicality.

He didn't know how to rein in his emotions when every piece of evidence he was finding was tied to Sara. Her clothes, pictures, and the brands of toiletries she used were in the bedroom. The kitchen held the exact inventory of food that was currently in her apartment. And now, looking at the hallway linen closet, it took every ounce of control not to throw the contents to the floor. It was identical to her linen closet. The majestic purple and baby blue towels were folded and stacked on the top shelf, hand towels and washcloths were placed on the next, and at the bottom were two wicker baskets. One held different feminine products and toilet paper. Grissom had acquainted himself with her closet before, and after his shower, he took time to learn small minute details.

Frustrated, he took photographs of the contents and knelt to get a better look at the other basket. His eyebrows rose slightly as he removed three white sheets, a set of silver candlesticks, and long, spiraled red candles. _'The same items found at the murders,'_ he thought, photographing his findings.

After bagging and labeling the evidence, he stood and made his way to the next door. Grissom frowned as his cell phone interrupted the quiet. "Grissom," he answered, opening the door and revealing a bathroom.

The smell of bleach engulfed him. "It's Greg," announced the CSI's voice.

"What did you find?" Grissom asked, removing the ALS from his kit.

"There was no sign of forced entry, and I couldn't tell if anything was taken," Greg answered. "I took some fingerprints from the various door handles."

Grissom sighed. He hadn't been expecting Greg to find anything incriminating. "But," Greg continued, "one of Sara's neighbors was being nosy and wondering what I was doing."

"Greg," Grissom started.

"I didn't say anything," he interrupted. "We were talking and she told me that she has keys to Sara's apartment. Sara has her water the plants whenever she works doubles. She told me that a gentlemen friend of Sara's had come by and had left his shirt in the apartment. She let him in, said she knew the man, and that he was a trusted citizen."

"Dr. Doyle?" Grissom asked through clenched teeth.

"Yeah."

"Take the women's statement," he continued.

"I already did," Greg assured him. "I'm going to head back to the lab and start processing the prints."

"Let me know the results," Grissom said and closed the phone.

His pulse was soaring, well over ninety-five. He placed the ALS down and leaned against the hallway wall, trying to calm himself, to regain his control. _'He who restrains his anger overcomes his greatest enemy.'_ He kept repeating it over and over in his mind. After a few minutes, his breathing was returning to normal, and his fists slowly unclenched. He picked up the ALS again and walked back into the bathroom, determined more than ever to put the bastard away.

He moved the ALS over the bathmat. Finding nothing, he bagged and labeled the carpet before turning to the kit. Putting on his eyewear, he removed the luminol from the kit and turned off the lights. Spraying the liquid, he watched as the tub glowed a bright blue. He frowned as the glow engulfed the whole tub and let out a silent curse._ 'The luminol is cross-reacting with the bleach.'_

He turned his attention to the rest of the bathroom, squirting the luminol over the different surfaces. The sink showed the same cross-reaction as the tub. A faint smile graced his face as he located blood drops between the toilet and bathtub. It was a hard to reach spot, and without looking for them the probability of seeing the drops was slim. After taking a few photos of the drops, he carefully took a sample of the blood.

Turning the lights back on, he turned his attention to the cabinet beneath the sink. Inside was a bunched up white terry cloth towel jammed in the back right corner. Grissom removed the towel and slowly opened it. His faint smile grew to a genuine one. A scalpel with dried blood lay in the middle of it.

He knew he had found a sample of the victim's blood, most likely Kimberly Witt's. Unfortunately, they had to wait for the lab to prove that it and the rest of the evidence that he had collected also belonged to the victims. All of it was circumstantial until the lab results were in. Until then, Dr. Doyle would be on the streets, free to fulfill his every twisted desire.

* * *

"Okay, let's go over what we have," Sara said, simultaneously opening Kimberly Witt's, Angie Moore's and Christine McGraw's case files.

She laid out a photograph of each woman in a row on the board in the evidence room. "All of the victims were displayed in the same manner," she stated, removing three photographs, each showing one victim's body laid out in the same ritualistic display: feet crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over the chest, lilies scattered along the naked bodies. Studying each, she placed the correct one under each file.

"Vicuna fibers found on each of the victims," Greg stated and scrawled the word vicuna on three index cards. He placed one underneath each victim's photograph. "Same candles, candlesticks, and sheets were used for the display."

"Were the same type of lilies used?" Brass asked, watching the two CSIs from the corner of the room.

"Yes," Sara answered. "Spathiphyllum Gioant, the peace lily. There were exactly seventy-five lilies on each body. Also, in each victim's mouth a silk Lilium longiforum, or Easter lily, was found."

"Each victim had Xanax in their system," Greg said as he placed a card under each victim.

"And identical fingerprints were obtained from Kimberly Witt's and Angie Moore's apartments," Sara remarked, adding the information.

Brass stepped forward and added a picture of Dr. Doyle from his driver's license photo to the line. "An identical print was also on the SPCA files that the doctor gave us," he said.

"Dr. Doyle also has vicuna seat coverings in his car," Greg pointed out and tacked the information under the veterinarian's picture.

"The tire tracks found at Kimberly Witt's crime scene were from a 2001 Honda Civic LX, which is the car he drives," Sara added, placing the information in the appropriate spots.

"Cat hair found on Christine McGraw is from a Russian White, and Dr. Doyle owns one," Greg said.

The three stood and looked at the board, each taking a moment to contemplate the information before them. Despite all of the information on the board, only four out of ten items could be tied to Dr. Doyle. One: the vicuna fibers were found on each body, but each could be accounted for in their usual contact with the man. Two: fingerprints were found at Angie Moore's and Kimberly Witt's residence, but again, this could be explained away by a previous encounter, as could the cat hair found on Christine McGraw's body. The tire tracks found at Kimberly's crime scene could have belonged to another 2001 Honda Civic LX. Dr. Doyle had been smart enough to have new tires placed on his car within the last week. It was circumstantial evidence and wouldn't be enough to show the District Attorney for an arrest warrant.

_'There are some advantages to being the mayor's nephew,'_ Sara thought bitterly, letting out a heavy sigh. She looked down at the case files on the table, anxiously reading over each, hoping that she would find something they had missed.

"Grissom," Greg said in greeting.

She looked up, her eyes locking with their supervisor's. He looked as alert as ever, his body radiating an energy she couldn't define, but in his eyes she could see the exhaustion that was threatening to envelope him. He nodded to the group and closed the door behind him before taking a seat at the table. The others quickly followed.

"What did you find?" Greg asked, voicing everyone's unasked question.

Grissom grimaced. "Underneath the bed were two suitcases, both belonging to Christine McGraw," he began. "I also found two trash bags full of clothes in the trash out back. We need to process them for fibers and get them to DNA as soon as possible to see who they belong to."

"In the hallway closet I found candles, candlesticks, and sheets identical to the ones found at each scene," he continued, his eyes darkening slightly before returning to normal. "In the backyard is a working greenhouse."

"Lilies?" Brass asked.

Grissom nodded. "In the hallway bathroom, the tub had recently been cleaned, and the bleach cross-reacted with the luminol. However, I did find blood drops between the tub and the toilet seat," he stated, his frown deepening. "Underneath the bathroom sink, wrapped in a towel, was a scalpel with dried blood."

He watched the others' reactions before continuing, "Mia is currently analyzing the blood I collected. Prints I found on the knife need to be analyzed, and the trash bags and Ms. McGraw's suitcases need to be dusted for prints."

The two CSIs nodded, each of them eager to begin a new task. "Greg, start looking at the clothes in the trash bags. Send anything you find to trace for analysis," Grissom instructed.

The young CSI nodded and exited the room. "What do you need me to do?" Sara asked, rising from her seat.

"Sit," he stated and removed a set of photographs from the evidence bag he was holding.

She gave him a perplexed look and sat down. Slowly, he placed one photograph on the table at a time. Her eyes widened with each one. These were pictures of her clothes, her brands, and the exact layout of her closet. Anger, embarrassment, and outrage intertwined and became one emotion, filling every cell of her body. She wanted to take each photograph and rip it to shreds, to destroy any evidence that Dr. Doyle had been able to enter her apartment, that he had free rein of all of her possessions.

"You can't be on this case anymore, Sara," Grissom stated softly.

Her head rose, eyes staring him down, mouth ready to offer a harsh retort. The open compassion on his face squelched the desire, and she looked down again, breathing heavily. She didn't know what to do or how to react. Instinct told her to lash out, to push him and everyone else away from her, and to run somewhere safe. It was what she had done in the past; it was her way of coping. As a child, she had done it to get away from the fights her parents had, running to the safety of a closet, her brother, or the tree house. As a young adult, she had done it to leave behind her tumultuous Harvard days, leaving the east coast for the familiar west coast of her childhood. Lately, her safety net had been work. It was easy to bury her fears in each case, working to the point of exhaustion, sleeping only when it was absolutely needed. But now, even work was torn from her. She had never felt so lost.

She felt Grissom's hand take hold of hers firmly and looked down at the pair. He always seemed to be the one to hold her hand. "I can't go home," she said, her voice foreign to her own ears.

"No," he replied, entwining their fingers. "I have a spare bedroom. You can stay there."

She raised an eyebrow at this unusual response.

He smiled tentatively at her. "Do you have spare clothes in your locker?"

She nodded and then frowned as he was gently tugging her to her feet. "But, what about the evidence?" she asked. "Greg can't do this all by himself."

"I called the guys," Grissom answered. "They're all on their way. As soon as I inform them of what needs to be processed, we're leaving."

"The protective detail is still assigned to her, so I'll have them follow you home and then set up camp outside your place," Brass said.

Sara blinked, remembering that the captain was still in the room. She looked down at the hand Grissom still held and then up at him, surprised that he hadn't let go of it.

"We came as soon as possible," Warrick said from the doorway, causing her attention to shift there.

Warrick, Nick, and Catherine filed into the room, closing the door behind them. Warrick and Catherine nodded in greeting, each offering tentative smiles, and quickly sat.

Nick stopped beside her and cleared his throat, struggling for the correct words to say. "If you need someone to talk to, Sar, call me," Nick said. "I… I know how it is… having someone invade your personal space."

She remembered Nigel Crane and the effect he'd had on Nick. Disengaging her hand from Grissom's, she hugged Nick, thankful for her friend's compassion and understanding. Ending the hug, she gave him a ghost of a smile, cursing herself for not being able to offer more.

He nodded at her and then took his seat.

"I'm going to get my spare set of clothes," Sara stated, having no desire to hear what they would be doing.

Grissom looked hastily at Brass, who nodded before replying, "Why don't I come with you?"

She shrugged and left the room, the captain on her heels. "Are you okay?" he asked as she opened her locker.

She stared at the gym bag resting at the bottom and shook her head. "It's like this is all just a really bad dream," she murmured and removed the bag.

"Ready?"

She looked up and saw Grissom standing in the doorway. Nodding, she closed the locker and followed him towards the Denali. She sighed as she buckled her seatbelt. _'Why does life have to be full of so many complications?'_


	24. Chapter 24

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Sorry it took so long for the next part. I really wanted to get Sara correct in these next two chapters. Thank you for all your kind reviews. Special thanks to my betas, Rouchie, and CSI4nsicAce.

**Disclaimer: **I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.

**_Chapter Twenty-Four_**

_'For in dreams, we enter a world that's entirely our own.'_ Sara Sidle blinked rapidly, struggling to make her brain and eyes work. She frowned, trying to place the quote that lingered in her mind. Rubbing her eyes, she laughed quietly as she remembered. _'Dumbledore…from the Harry Potter movie that Nick and Greg dragged me to.'_

A smile briefly graced her face as she thought back on that day. It was an uneventful day, the movie had been an opportunity to escape the heat, and as they watched, she couldn't help but feel she was reading one of the classics she had devoured as a child. The entire afternoon had been a memorable experience. Laughing, talking, being in the company of other people, it had been a nice escape.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up, taking a second to regain her bearings. She was in the spare bedroom in Grissom's townhouse. The ride to his place had been shrouded in silence, and when they had gotten there, he showed her the bedroom, and she promptly fell asleep, the events of the day finally catching up with her.

She smiled as she looked at the blue blanket that covered her body. Intricate dragonflies were sewn on it, and she traced the insects, trying to keep her mind clear of any conscious thought. Thinking required too much effort, especially when she knew it would turn to subjects she'd rather not deal with at the moment.

Her gaze left the blanket and traveled to the walls. '_White_.' A frown settled on her face. The only item on the wall was a dragonfly displayed behind glass. The dressers were bare, and the nightstand simply held a white lamp. Catherine had often joked about the sterility of Grissom's townhouse and she had always rolled her eyes at the comments, but now, looking at the room, she understood the bleakness the other woman was talking about.

Sara sighed and got off of the bed. She quickly put on her pants and exited the room. Idleness was her greatest enemy. It allowed her mind to wander. There had to be something she could do. Meandering down the hallway, she looked at the hangings on the walls, more insects displayed behind glass. _'Does he have anything else on display in this house?'_ she wondered as she rounded the corner and entered the living room.

"What are you doing?" she asked, startled at how loud her voice sounded in the quiet.

Grissom looked up from his position and wore an expression that implied, 'What do you think?' He turned back to the floor, using the dust brush and pan to sweep up the glass and color that was scattered on the floor. She frowned, surprised that she hadn't heard the crash._ 'Was I really that tired?'_

She walked towards him, curious about the color she was seeing. Her eyes widened as she discovered that the spots of blue, green and red she saw were butterflies, broken and scattered about the floor. "What happened?" she asked, kneeling for a better look.

Upon receiving no answer, she watched him out of the corner of her eyes. He continued his movements, sweeping the glass and butterflies into the dustpan and emptying it into a small silver trashcan. Without thought, she scooped up a butterfly, carefully examining it. The deep violet-blue right wing was slightly crumpled, and the left had part of the outer white margin of the wing cut away, but otherwise, it was still beautiful.

"Lycaeides Argyrognomon Lotis," Sara said, tracing the large wing span. "You were simply going to throw away a Lotis Blue butterfly?" she added, looking warily at him.

He shrugged and continued sweeping the floor.

"Grissom, these are endangered," she chided. "You must have had this for years."

"Thirty-one," he said no emotion in his voice.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You can't simply throw it away!" she said exasperatedly and placed the butterfly out of harm's way.

She reached for another one, in part to determine what it was and also to save it from the trash bin. As she picked up a wing, she felt a piece of glass slice her hand. Cursing she pulled her hand back, sucking the cut on her finger. '_The glass must have been under the wing.'_

"Damn it, Sara," Grissom scolded and clasped the injured hand in one of his.

He eyed the cut warily before releasing her hand, rising, and leaving the room. She watched him leave, once again sucking the wound, and wondered what was going on with him. The Grissom she knew wouldn't throw away butterflies he had kept for over thirty years. He would have carefully collected every piece he could find and delicately glued each piece of wing, thorax, and abdomen back together with love and determination. She didn't know what was going on in his mind at the moment.

He returned a couple seconds later, a Band-Aid, cotton ball, and peroxide in his hands. Looking at his outstretched hand, she rolled her eyes and handed her own to him. Letting out a low hiss as he cleaned the cut, she studied him as he applied the Band-Aid. "Another scar that I've given you," he muttered and tossed the cotton ball in the bin.

"What is going on?" Sara snapped, desperate for something to make sense. "You're throwing butterflies away, you're talking about scars…I need an explanation."

He sighed, placed the peroxide bottle down, and reached for the brush, obviously intent on not answering her.

Her eyes narrowed, and she grabbed the pan. "You are _obviously_ not thinking clearly right now," she said, removing butterfly remains carefully from it. "You'll regret throwing them away."

"It is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable," Grissom stated.

"Sidney J. Harris," she said, identifying the quote. "Why do you want to throw them away?"

"You should be asleep," he answered, trying to change the topic.

"So should you," she countered, glaring at him, silently challenging him to drop his gaze first.

The two sat in their positions for what seemed to be hours, but was only a few seconds, adamantly locking their gazes and neither willing to talk. They were both stubborn by nature, and neither found it easy to discuss how they were feeling, especially with one another. _'Some things never change,'_ Sara sighed and looked away.

"Fine," she said bitterly, dropping the butterfly remains back onto the floor and swiftly standing. If he didn't want to talk, she wasn't going to push him. She didn't have the energy for it anymore. "Do whatever the hell you want with them."

"A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us," Grissom stated.

She turned towards him and let out another sigh. "No more quotes, no more riddles or enigmas, Grissom," she pleaded, trying desperately to see inside the man before her. "I want your words, not someone else's words, just yours."

He looked at her, reminding her of a little boy lost in the woods, struggling desperately to get home again. "I don't know what you want me to say," he said, his voice so full of despair that it broke her heart. "I don't know what to say."

She watched his face shift through a multitude of emotions from grievous to melancholy as he struggled with words. Words by John Buchanan filled her mind, _'He disliked emotion, not because he felt lightly, but because he felt deeply.'_ That described the man across from her to a T. "What happened?" she asked, motioning to the broken display.

He looked at the shattered glass and broken wings and flinched. "They don't matter," he murmured softly, and she struggled to hear him. He turned his attention back to her, and she was taken back by the passion that shone through his eyes. "I looked around my house, at these displays, my life's ambition, and realized that none of it matters."

He picked up a broken wing and looked at it, tracing the delicate designs nature had created. "I am my father," he said, defeat encompassing him. He looked back at her, sadness replacing the passion. "He left my mother and me. I always told myself that I would not be like him. I would not hurt anyone I loved the way he did to the two of us. But I've been doing it for years."

It was her turn to look away, afraid of the feelings he would see in her own eyes. His hand cupped her chin and gently lifted her head so he could see her eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured, resting his forehead on hers. "God, Sara."

Slowly, she brought her lips to his, trying to convey all of her emotions into one simple act.

His hands moved from her chin to her neck, gently massaging it as her arms wrapped around his neck. His mouth moved from hers, placing kisses down her neck and eliciting moans from her as his hands began traveling down her back, causing her body to tingle with each touch. His mouth reclaimed hers, deepening the kiss and causing her head to spin from the sensations he was evoking.

He knew they were moving too fast, jumping headfirst instead of sitting back and analyzing what was happening between them. And for once in his life, Gil Grissom didn't give a damn; he was going to allow his emotions to lead him, if only for this brief moment in time.

* * *

_'Too fast, god, we're going too fast.'_ Sara moaned as his hands traveled under the t-shirt she was wearing, caressing her sides and rising slowly up her torso. Every rational part of her was screaming for her to pull away. They needed to talk, figure things out, before they got to the stage they had jumped to, but the feelings he was evoking from her were pushing all rational thought to the back of her mind.

Somehow they had moved from their standing location to the couch, or as close to a couch as he had in this house. She was unsure what had happened; the events of the previous few minutes had become a haze of pleasure, making her head spin. His mouth reclaimed hers, his tongue edging its way back in as his right hand moved higher up her body, stopping to gently caress the underside of one breast.

Rational thought ceased to exist, her moan quickly engulfed by his mouth. This was a side to Gil Grissom she had yearned to see for more years than she could recall. The passion he held for his work, the intensity he had for each case, all of it was being focused on her. The way his hands moved over every inch of her it was as if he was trying to catalogue the differences that he could see, touch, taste, and smell. _'Ever the scientist.'_

She inhaled quickly when his tongue touched a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, a shudder moving down her body. She tightly gripped his shoulders, his constant attention eliciting another moan from deep within her.

The harsh tone of a cell phone rang throughout the townhouse, causing the two of them to halt their actions. Grissom groaned and moved off of her, removing the offending object from his pants pocket. "Grissom," he answered gruffly.

Sara took the opportunity to tug her shirt back into place and then began smoothing her hair down, trying to get it under control. She didn't watch him as he talked on the phone, a strange sense of foreboding filling her body. Now that their brief lapse of irrational behavior was over, how would he react? Would he revert to his standard closed off behavior, keeping her at arms length and placing an invisible wall between them? She didn't know if she would be able to handle that.

She heard him end the call and readied herself for his detachment, willing herself to create the stony exterior that she could exude. She wouldn't let him see her break. Slowly, she looked up, his frown the first thing she saw. "I need to work hard on earning your trust back," he said, his voice full of sadness.

She opened her mouth to tell him differently but thought better. "Who was on the phone?" she asked, giving a classic Grissom response by avoiding the issue at hand.

His blue eyes watched her carefully before he answered, "It was Catherine. They have the results."

* * *

Dr. Doyle sat with his back against the chair, looking disdainfully at the sleeve of his jacket and occasionally brushing it to smooth the fabric, exuding an air of superiority. The doctor's demeanor made Grissom want to barge into the room and confront him with all of the evidence; to wipe the arrogance off of his smug face. Well crafted restraint and the presence of the swing and night shift, minus Sofia, kept him from acting on his impulse.

"We have more than enough evidence to put him away for good," Greg remarked, breaking the silence.

"He isn't going to get away with it," Nick added.

"I just want to know why," Sara said and stepped forward, coming to stand at Grissom's side by the mirror. "Why did he kill these women? Why did he have my stuff? Just, why?"

He turned to look at her, amazed by the strength, the energy, that she possessed. Even with all that had happened to her in the last few days, hell, with all that she dealt with growing up, she was still able to stand before all of them, to continue on. Examining her closely, he briefly wondered if he had it all wrong. Was she really handling it all okay, or was it all merely a façade she had perfected over the years in order to keep herself sane? She looked at him, and he swore he could see a deep sadness in her chocolate eyes.

"Ready, Grissom?" Brass asked from the doorway, interrupting any further rumination.

He allowed his hand to graze her arm as he turned, offering her a small form of support, before following Brass out of the room. Entering the interrogation room, he readied himself for his encounter with Dr. Doyle. It took all of his self-control not to wipe the smarmy smile from the man's face.

"Gentlemen, you best have more than circumstantial evidence, or my client will be suing this department for harassment," Mr. Pierce stated as Brass and Grissom took their seats.

"We wouldn't be here, Mr. Pierce, if we didn't have new information," Brass countered.

Grissom placed the folders he was carrying on the table and removed the top file. "We obtained a warrant for the property you own near Lake Mead," he stated and flipped the file open.

"Michelle's property," the doctor said, his demeanor faltering for a second, before glaring at the CSI.

Grissom removed several photographs, placing one down at a time. "Christine McGraw's suitcases, found under the bed in the master bedroom," he started and causally withdrew an evidence bag holding a dark blue passport. "As well as her passport," he added.

"Dr. Doyle, how was Ms. McGraw supposed to travel to Europe without either of those items?" Brass asked, leaning forward slightly, "And how did they manage to materialize in your house?"

Pierce leaned towards his client, but Doyle remained stoic, his eyes focused emotionlessly on Grissom. "Tell me, Dr. Grissom," the veterinarian began, "didn't you ever wonder why she moved out here? Away from the life she had established for herself?"

"William," his lawyer admonished, touching his client's arm to try and stop him from incriminating himself.

"She was happy in San Francisco. She had friends, a blossoming career, and I'd wager that she had her own share of romantic liaisons," Doyle continued, shrugging his lawyer's arm away. "And what does she have here? No friends, no relationships, and a career stuck in limbo. And yet, she spends more time at work than she does anywhere else. Why does she stay?"

Grissom ignored the man and pulled out the next piece of evidence, photographs of the clothing found in the trashcans and the reports on the fibers found. "We also located women's clothing in a trashcan," he stated, placing the information onto the table. "Lab analysis confirmed that the articles of clothing belonged to Kimberly Witt."

"Kimberly Witt?" Mr. Pierce asked, taking a closer look at the files that lay out before them.

"But you were alluring her before that, weren't you?" Doyle asked, ignoring his lawyer's attempts to talk. "She could have become a prominent figure in the world of physics. She was already making her mark at Berkley. But she left all of that behind too and became a crime scene analyst."

"We also found a bloody scalpel in the bathroom," Grissom continued, placing photographs of the object on the table. "Kimberly Witt's blood."

Doyle shook his head. "That isn't all you found though, is it, Dr. Grissom?" he asked and picked up the pictures on the table, looked at each one, and let them drop to the table.

Looking back up, a predatory smile appeared on his face. "Where are the other photographs that you took?" he asked, amusement in his voice. "Did you enjoy the layout of the hallway closet?"

Grissom's knuckles were turning white from the force he was using to keep them in his lap. He was sure that the fury he was feeling was shining through loud and clear in his eyes. The man was baiting him, trying to get him to erupt, and he was doing a damn good job. He stared at the doctor, refusing to react to the attempts.

"I would never have killed her, you know," Doyle mused, pushing the photographs back towards him.

"William," his lawyer snapped.

The doctor chuckled. "Go, Ben, I don't need you here," he said. "They have all the evidence they'll ever need to put me away."

Doyle smiled and redirected his attention to Grissom. "But it isn't enough, is it, Dr. Grissom?" he asked, tapping the table with his fingers. "You want to know why."

He looked past the entomologist and at the two way mirror. "Rather, the enchanting Ms. Sidle wants to know why," he added, nodding his head towards the mirror.

On the other side of the glass, Sara shivered, feeling the man's eyes on her, even though she knew it was impossible for him to see her. She felt Nick's hand rest on her shoulder, offering her his support, and she smiled at him, grateful for his friendship. Turning back to the glass, she studied Doyle, hoping he would explain why he had destroyed so many lives.

"William, I really must insist--" Pierce said, trying to halt his client's actions.

"Leave, Ben," Doyle interrupted, shooting a scathing look at his lawyer. When Pierce still had not risen, he looked at Brass. "I no longer require counsel, Captain. Please remove him from these proceedings."

Brass raised an eyebrow before rising and motioning for the lawyer to follow. "You have to respect his wishes," he stated and opened the door.

"His uncle will hear of this," Pierce said and exited the room.

Brass closed the door and took his seat.

"That's better," Doyle said, nonchalantly flicking something from his jacket. "So, where were we? Ah, yes, Ms. Sidle wants to know why."

He rose from his seat and walked towards the mirror.

On the other side, Sara took an unconscious step backward.

"You are always struggling with the why, aren't you my dear," he mused, searching the glass for a way to see into the room beyond. "You collect and analyze evidence, putting together intricate puzzles that tell what happened and how it happened, but I'm sure the reasoning behind people's actions isn't always clear. Isn't that right, Dr. Grissom?"

He looked back at the CSI and smiled. "Does she ever get particularly wrapped up in a case, putting her heart and soul into finding out what happened, and leaving you wondering when she'll burn out and be unable to handle the job anymore?" he asked, voicing concerns Grissom had felt toward her on more than one occasion.

The CSI didn't respond, looking dispassionately at Doyle, trying to control the fury that wanted release. He wanted to know how this man had come to know so much about Sara.

The veterinarian turned back to the mirror, a devilish smile on his face. "Do you ever look at a victim and see yourself in them, Sara?" he asked. "Are old wounds and scars that you long thought buried brought to life again?"

Sara fought the overwhelming urge to turn away from the glass. The way in which the doctor was able to analyze her thoughts was scaring her.

"Do you think that by helping one more victim of abuse, one more young woman that was raped, that you'll be able to understand the reasoning your mother had to kill your father?" he finished, his fingers grazing the glass.

Sara gasped, her hands wrapping around her torso in a protective manner, staring at him through the mirror. She closed her eyes, hearing the sounds of her coworkers' shock and feeling all of their questioning gazes on her. She felt like throwing up, her body's flight response trying to urge her to flee from the room and away from the pain around her. Opening her eyes, she fixed them on Doyle's, all of her rage and desperation focused on him.

"Sit down!" she heard Grissom growl, and she shifted her attention to him, surprised by the intensity, the fury that was in his voice.

Doyle laughed, his body shaking from the sound. "And he's still trying to be your knight," he said, motioning towards Grissom.

Brass stood, in part to block his friend from doing anything inappropriate, and also to finish this charade. "Dr. William Doyle, you are under arrest for the murders of Christine McGraw and Kimberly Witt," he said, and knocked twice on the door.

A uniformed officer entered. As he continued issuing the Miranda rights, Doyle looked back at the mirror and smiled sadly. "We could have had a beautiful life together, Sara," he said. "Unfortunately, you chose not to accept my advances, as did the others. They died for their insolence. You didn't, but will you ever be the same?"

"Get him out of here," Brass ordered.

"Are you okay?" Catherine asked, interrupting the silence in the room.

Sara closed her eyes, dreading the compassion and hating the pity that was intertwined in the other woman's voice. All of the unwanted attention, the pity, the forced compassion, the uncertainty that those around her expressed, was all coming back. She opened her eyes and took one look at her friends. What she saw in their eyes was what she had tried so hard to overcome. She was no longer Sara Sidle, CSI, to them. She was Sara Sidle, victim. The girl whose father was stabbed to death.

She did what she had done every other time she was confronted with this reality. She ran.


	25. Chapter 25

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Sorry it took so long for the next part. I really wanted to get Sara correct in these next two chapters. Thank you for all your kind reviews. Special thanks to my betas, Rouchie, and CSI4nsicAce.

**Disclaimer: **I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.

**_Chapter Twenty-Five_**

_'…seven, eight, nine…'_ Gil Grissom silently counted, his eyes closed as he leaned with his palms flat against the table. He needed to regroup before leaving the room. Thankfully, Brass had been able to remove Doyle from the proceedings before he had lost his temper. He knew the veterinarian had been baiting him, trying to get him to lose control, and bringing Sara into the conversation was the best ammunition.

His eyes flew open and he looked towards the mirror. _'Sara…'_ he thought and exited the room. Doyle had brought up her past and the others had no doubt heard his comments. There was no telling how she would react to her coworkers finding out about it.

Entering the observation room he knew she had left without an explanation by the looks on their faces. "Where is she?" he asked, hoping they knew which direction she had taken off in.

"Did you know about this, Grissom?" Catherine asked, looking at him with suspicion.

Grissom narrowed his eyes, and repeated his question. "Where is she?"

"She ran towards the back entrance," Greg said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Grissom!" Catherine yelled, demanding his attention.

"I do not have the time, nor do I feel the need to answer your questions right now, Catherine," he snapped and took off down the hallway.

She didn't have her keys or her purse with her, so he kept telling himself that she couldn't have gotten that far. His mind raced with conflicting emotions. There was resentment towards Catherine's demanding nature, disappointment in the others for not running after Sara, worry for Sara and how she had reacted, and a sense of anger that he had never experienced before directed towards Dr. Doyle.

He exited the police department and looked frantically around the back parking lot, hoping to spot a glimpse of her somewhere. Thankfully, he didn't have to look far. He found her leaning against his Denali, looking out at the parking lot. Her current expression reminded him of when he had found her after the lab accident, dazed and confused, not quite as responsive as she should be.

He froze in mid stride, unsure how to talk to her. He had no idea what she needed right now, no idea of how to help her through this. Looking at her dejected form, images of himself at five years old, sitting on the curb of the sidewalk, waiting for his father to finally come home, flashed in front of him. All he had ever wanted was for someone to sit with him. He didn't need anyone to talk to; he didn't want the consoling, empty promise that it would all be okay. All he needed was for someone to hold his hand and show that they were there for him.

He quietly walked forward and leaned against the Denali. Silence was easy for him. Slowly, he took her hand in his and gently began to caress it. They stood there for a few seconds before she looked up at him, finally acknowledging his presence. The door to the department opened and she cringed.

"Come on," he said, tugging her hand and unlocking the SUV.

She offered no resistance and got into the SUV, closing the door and buckling herself in. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Grissom was unsure what the next step should be but had no intention of letting her go through it alone.

* * *

Shock, pity, concern, worry, discomfort. They were all words that described the looks on her friends' faces when she had turned around in the observation room. None of their gazes would quite meet her own. Nick's supportive hand on her shoulder had dropped when Doyle had uttered the words she never wanted them to hear. She knew he hadn't meant to do so, that in his state of shock, his arm had withdrawn unconsciously, but it still hurt.

She had grown up with those types of looks. Each time a friend, a foster parent, or one of the kids in the new foster home found out what happened, they had those looks on their faces. The mixture of pity, uncertainty, and discomfort made her want to scream, to punch, to do something to wipe the expression from their faces. But she never could. She was Sara Sidle, and she was determined not to become like her parents; she wouldn't allow herself to act out in rage like they did. She would keep that rage buried deep within herself and show the world that she wasn't like them.

The looks weren't the worse part though. It was the way people treated her after they found out. It was never quite the same relationship as they had before they knew. The only person who hadn't treated her differently had been Grissom. Well, maybe that was wrong, he did treat her differently, but not in the same manner as everyone else had. While others had coddled and pitied her, he had not.

Wrapping her arms tighter around her body, she forced herself to look at him. Even now, he didn't show signs of pity nor was he trying to be understanding; he was just there. As he pulled into his parking space, she wondered what they were going to do.

"Hungry?" he asked. "We should probably order something since I don't think I have anything of sustenance in my fridge. Well, nothing without meat."

She nodded and exited the vehicle with him. As they were walking up the steps to his front door, she heard her cell phone start ringing. Extracting it from her pocket, she looked at it, wondering who could be calling her. It was probably Nick, maybe even Greg, wanting to know what was going on. She was not in the mood to talk to anyone. After the ringing stopped, she opened her phone, changed the setting to silent, and pocketed it.

Looking up, she shifted uncomfortably under Grissom's unwavering gaze. He studied her for a moment before unlocking the door and letting them both in.

She held back a sigh of relief and followed him into his townhouse, smiling wryly at the fact that he had brought her back to his place. '_Though, I suppose my apartment is still considered a crime scene,' _she thought, her smile faltering.

As they entered further into the townhouse she instinctively wrapped her arms around her torso, her gaze anywhere but the man in front of her. It was midday, and the house was dark, tiny slivers of light escaping through the blinds. She looked around the room, shaking her head at the stark white of the walls, reminded once again of the similarities it had with the bleakness of the morgue. She wandered deeper into his abode, keeping him in her peripheral vision, unsure if she should head straight for the spare bedroom and close the door or if she should take up residence on the couch in the living room. Instinct wanted her to choose the room; his steadfast gaze on her was making her lean towards the couch.

She turned her attention to the couch, a smile threatening to grace her face as she remembered the last time she had been on it. Casting a quick look at him, the underlying passion in his eyes told her he was also thinking back on it. The shrill ringing of his cell phone cut through the air, and she sat on the couch, focusing her attention on the shards of glass and array of color that were still scattered on the floor. His cell kept ringing and she turned to look at him, surprised when he opened and then quickly shut it.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Her eyes widened, unsure what he meant by the question.

"To eat," he clarified, and she almost laughed in spite of herself.

She shrugged. "I'm not really all that hungry," she said, turning her attention back to the floor.

'_Maybe I should have chosen the bedroom.'_ Her gaze roamed over the carnage, identifying pieces of wings, thoraxes, and abdomens. No matter how much time he put into it, Grissom might never be able to put all of them back together again. They were broken beyond repair. _'Like me.'_

Anger and self-hatred filled her, her face contorting, fists clenched until they turned white. She closed her eyes, biting her lip until she tasted blood, desperately trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to erupt. She pulled her knees up to her, trying to effectively create armor around her that would allow her to push all of the emotions back inside of her.

In the back of her mind she felt that the couch had shifted under her, but it wasn't until arms clumsily wrapped around her, pulling her towards his body, that she registered that Grissom was on the couch. She shifted her body, her hands coming to cling to his shirt, burying her face in his chest. Tears rushed from her eyes, heart wrenching sobs breaking free from her mouth. She cried for the loss of her innocence, the secrets she had carried around for so long, and the looks on her friends' faces when they had learned the truth, holding tightly to the only thing that was keeping her grounded at that moment in time.

* * *

"I don't understand how she could keep this a secret from us," Catherine huffed, removing a coffee mug from the break room's cabinets.

Nick rolled his eyes, careful to not look at her, as he redialed Sara's cell phone number. He scowled as it rang through again, finally directing him to her voicemail.

"How was she supposed to say anything to you?" Greg asked, glaring at the swing shift supervisor. "It's not like you and her have this deep sisterly love bond going on."

She looked at him, glaring daggers in his direction, her voice icy, "This isn't something trivial. If the defense ever learned about her past, they could use that in court. Say she was biased towards the victim."

"We're all biased towards the victim," Greg retorted.

"The fact that she has had personal involvement in domestic abuse cases--" Catherine started, attempting to sound diplomatic.

"That's bullshit!" Greg yelled, not caring about the wandering eyes being directed towards the room. "As her _friends,_ we shouldn't be in here debating how her past affects her job performance. We _should_ be out there showing her that we care and that we're here for her. But maybe you're so _blinded_ by your new authority that you've forgotten what it means to be a friend." He shook his head angrily and stood. "I'm going to find Sara and show her I care," he vowed, and started towards the door.

"I'm coming with you," Nick stated, pressing redial and following Greg out the door.

Warrick took a long look at Catherine before standing. "You coming?" he asked.

She looked away from him, letting out a long sigh. Turning back, she nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

Eventually the sobs stopped and her tears ceased. At some point, Sara had pushed away from him, pulling her legs up to her body and resting her head on her knees as she watched him watch her. She was unsure how long they sat like that, each watching the other, waiting for the other to begin speaking.

"Why did you…" Grissom began, struggling for the right words. "Why did you leave the observation room?"

"I couldn't bear the look on their faces," she sighed. "I hate _that_ look. The pity, the concern, I can't stand it."

It was her turn to struggle with words, stuck with how to coherently explain the reasoning behind it all. Rationally, shouldn't she appreciate those kinds of looks? That's what all the counselors had told her, what other foster kids had said. But she couldn't stand it. Maybe it was the stubborn streak in her, but she hated pity, she hated people worrying about her. It didn't help her; it didn't make the pain any less. All it did was make people uncomfortable.

"I've seen those looks too many times to count," she started, turning her head and focusing on the whiteness of the walls, anything to avoid looking at his blue eyes. "After…" she paused, forcing herself to say the words, "after my father died, I was brought to social services. I remember holding onto the woman's hand, walking out of our house into the bright sunlight and being startled by the looks of the neighbors. I had known these people all my life. I played with their kids, ran through their backyards for my shortcut to school. But the looks on their faces…the horror of something like that happening in their neighborhood."

She looked back at him, her eyes locking with his, desperate for someone to understand her feelings. "My first foster family lived three streets away from my old house. I went to the same school as I had before," she continued. "But nothing was the same. Every time they looked at me…god, Grissom…it was as if they were wondering when I would snap. When would little Sara Sidle go crazy like her mother?"

"Things got better at the next foster home. I didn't go to the same school. But when people learned what had happened, the pity, the exaggerated sympathy…I wanted to yell for them to stop it, to scream at the absurdity of it all. None of it made it any better. It didn't lessen the pain. All it did was make them uncomfortable and make me less and less social," she explained, pulling her knees tighter. "I did yell one time. My foster parents sent me to therapy, afraid of my outburst. Once anyone found out about my past, they've treated me differently, walking on eggshells around me, afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, watching for signs…"

Her voice trailed off and she looked away from him, finishing her sentence, her voice barely above a whisper, "that I might be like my mother."

Sara closed her eyes, thankful that her tear ducts seemed to be dried up. She couldn't bear crying in front of him again. At least with Grissom, the uneasiness in social interaction wasn't all due to her. She was able to rationalize away any uncomfortable feeling when around him to the usual awkwardness that was exhibited between them. She didn't expect anything from him, and that was probably why she was startled when she felt a hand run through her hair, drawing strands of it away from her tear streaked face.

Lifting her head, her eyes locked with his and then closed as he used both hands to wipe away hair and tears from her face. She sighed as his lips pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before he pulled her to him. She shifted in his arms, resting her head on his chest, keeping her eyes closed as his hands continued to caress her hair.

A melancholic smile broke out on her face, amazed that the man who had so many social qualms was the one to give her exactly what she needed. She was unsure how long they stayed in that position. Minutes, seconds, hours - time had a funny way of becoming obsolete when she was with him. The only reason they broke apart was because of the shrill ring of the doorbell.

Grissom sighed heavily. "Any wagers on who is at the door?" he asked, trying to smile at his joke, but failing miserly.

Sara smiled at the attempt and leaned back on the couch. "Maybe Nick or Greg," she replied and removed her cell phone from her pocket.

Flipping it open, she cringed at the 19 missed calls displayed on her screen.

"What do you want?" he asked his voice wary.

"I doubt this time your talking about food," she joked, immediately sighing at her lame attempt at humor. "I'm going to have to talk to them eventually. Let them in."

"You sure?" he asked, rising.

She shrugged and watched him walk away. She contemplated making her way to the bathroom to wipe her face but negated the idea quickly. No amount of water was going to wash away the emotional upheaval she had just endured.

"Hey, Sara," Nick said, his voice causing her to look up.

She kept any surprise from being visibly shown as she looked at the group of them standing on the threshold of the living room. Nick and Greg stood close together, Nick looking as though he was trying to decipher her current mood, Greg shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking off into space. Warrick looked at her, sympathy in his eyes, but she had a feeling it was directed more toward her current situation than what happened in her past. Grissom looked uncomfortably at the group. She could tell he was trying to determine where he should be, by her side or with the group.

Looking at Catherine, she felt an overwhelming urge to throw up overcome her. The suspicious gaze in her eyes and tense posture was becoming too much to bear. Sara looked away from them, focusing her attention on the crease that had developed in her shirt from the way she had been sitting.

Silence fell upon the room, encompassing them all in its uncomfortable cloak. She looked intently at the crease, memorizing the dips and turns with her eyes, biting her lips as the uneasiness grew.

"So I guess I'm not the only one with a dysfunctional family," Greg said, breaking the silence.

All eyes looked at him. Grissom had half a mind to throttle him where he stood and Nick looked like he was ready to join in. Both men ceased those thoughts and turned to look at Sara as loud, boisterous laughter erupted from her mouth. Warrick smirked and Catherine fought hard to stifle a grin.

Greg looked at all of them, smiling widely before moving to sit down by Sara. "What? I knew Sara and I had a special bond," he stated, winking lasciviously at her.

She found herself instantly grateful for his innocence. He never seemed to notice the eggshells and tended to plow right through them.

Nick rolled his eyes while Grissom felt a pang of jealousy overcome him. The feeling increased as she playfully punched the younger man. Her stomach took that moment to grumble and it was Warrick's turn to laugh.

"He not feeding you?" he asked, taking a chair from the dining table and turning it to face them before sitting down.

"We were just about to order something," Grissom grumbled, folding his arms in annoyance.

"Chinese," Nick said and took up residence in a seat by Warrick.

"We had that yesterday," Greg groaned before voicing his choice with conviction, "Pizza!"

"We _always _get pizza," Catherine said, sitting in a leather chair that was off to the side.

"I don't believe I ever invited any of you to eat with us," Grissom said exasperatedly.

"Well we have to order out, I doubt _Bugman_ has anything edible in his fridge," Greg said, his face scrunching in concentration.

Grissom sighed, knowing any opposition he voiced wouldn't be taken seriously. He turned his attention to Sara, who flashed him a brilliant smile. He returned it, knowing he would go to hell and back to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles. Looking around at the group, his old team, he was thankful that they had put aside what ever reservations that they had and were acting normal. It was what she needed, to see that not everyone would treat her the way she was used to. Right now, at that moment, it was enough.


	26. Chapter 26

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks so much to Rouchie and CSI4nsicAce for beta-ing this thing. You two are the best.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own them and I really couldn't afford them either.

**_Chapter Twenty-Six_**

"Omelet with all the fixings minus the ham," Warrick said, placing one plate on the table.

"Mine!" Greg yelled and quickly grabbed the plate.

"Omelet with cheese, onions, and peppers for Catherine. Omelet with cheese and peppers for Sara," he continued handing off the plates. "And an omelet with all the fixings for Grissom."

"You're lucky, Grissom," Nick said between bites. "Greg was going to try using a couple chocolate covered grasshoppers in your omelet."

"Sara wouldn't let me," the younger man pouted.

"Touch his bugs and see what happens," Sara replied, cutting a section off and devouring it.

"Be thankful she stopped you, young grasshopper," Nick continued, sprinkling salt.

A casual roll of the eyes was the only answer he received and the conversation became minimal as everyone began eating.

Taking a bite of the slightly burnt creation, Sara looked around at the group gathered around the table. She could've kiss Greg and Nick for their antics in the kitchen and hug Warrick for teasing her as they watched their friends cook. Catherine, well, at least the suspicious looks had ceased. And Grissom…_ 'There are a lot of things I would like to do to Grissom,'_ she thought, trying to keep the smirk off of her features.

It had never been like this.

Every time she had told her friends about her past or they had found out about it, they became distant. Phone calls and gatherings dwindled into nothing. When she would bump into them on the street the conversations would be short and they would quickly make an exit. It never ended with omelets and laughter.

A feeling of calmness was slowly beginning to course through her veins, allowing her to truly relax. She should have known that it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped and her emotions went through a tumultuous spin cycle again. As she looked back at Catherine, she could almost hear the breaking of the tranquility she was experiencing.

Sara shrugged, pushing away those thoughts, intent on enjoying this meal with everyone. She listened to Greg and Nick's awful jokes and their attempts to get Warrick to tell about any current dates he'd gone on. Eventually everyone had finished eating and Sara offered to do the dishes, despite all their protests.

She walked into the kitchen carrying an armful of dishes, which she promptly placed in the sink. Looking up she watched as the swing shift supervisor entered the room with another armful of dishes. She smiled at her, greatful for some help.

Catherine made eye contact with the brunette. Seizing her opportunity, "Why didn't you ever tell us?" she suddenly asked, effectively destroying the mood.

Sara looked away, closing her eyes as she tried to rein in her emotions and the sudden urge to hurl a glass at the woman. Answering cool-headedly would be the most appropriate action and cause the least disturbance, but she didn't care. "Why should I have?" she countered, raising her eyes to the other woman's in a silent challenge.

"Sara," Catherine started.

"Don't," Sara growled, shaking her head in annoyance at the woman's placating tone. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child."

"Don't act like one then," the other woman answered.

"Catherine," Grissom warned, glaring at her, his mouth tight with frustration. He walked past her and placed the last of the dishes into the sink.

"No, Grissom," Catherine said, turning her attention back to Sara. "You should have told us."

"Again, Catherine," she said angrily, clenching her hands into fists. "Why should I have?"

"Because, as your friends--"

Sara couldn't help it, she laughed. "Friends?" she asked looking at her with bewilderment. "Where was this so called friendship after Ecklie suspended me, Catherine? Grissom came over. Greg and Nick came over during the week. Warrick even called me. I never heard a word from you. So, excuse me if I don't believe this friendship routine."

"Fine," Catherine replied, leaning against the counter and folding her arms at her chest. "As your colleagues we should have known. There are cases you shouldn't be working on--"

"Like you shouldn't have worked on a case involving your ex-husband being charged for rape?" she countered, her frustration level rising. "What happened when I was younger has no bearing on the work I do."

"That isn't how a defense attorney will see it," Catherine reciprocated, ignoring the look Grissom gave her. "They'll paint you as a vigilante CSI who uses the evidence to help those victims who remind you of your childhood. That you empathize with them because of your parents."

"Suddenly you can see into the future now?" Sara asked, her knuckles becoming white with the pressure she was exuding. "And who exactly am I empathizing with? Those who remind me of my crazy mother who stabbed my father twenty-seven times or my abusive father who thought that I'd make a good ashtray for his cigars?"

Silence was her only answer. Breathing deeply, she tried to calm herself, to get her emotions in check. "Screw this," she said. Losing her inner battle, she walked swiftly to the guest room, closing the door behind her.

She collapsed to the floor, pulled her knees to her chest, and closed her eyes, not caring about the commotion that was now occurring in the living room.

* * *

"What the hell, Catherine," Nick said, trying to keep his voice from rising. He looked at his supervisor, wondering what had happened to the sympathetic woman he had told his past to. Where was the compassion he had been shown?

"Do you really think that was the best course of action to take?" Warrick asked, his voice low, disappointment evident as he spoke.

"I think she needed to see the reality of the situation and not be coddled, which seems to be the approach you were all taking," Catherine answered, defending her actions.

"We were not coddling her!" Greg yelled, his voice echoing through the room. His face was reddening, his nostrils flaring in anger. "We were being friends. Do you even know the meaning of that word?"

"We just found out about her past, Catherine," Nick said, motioning towards where Sara had gone. "What she needed was to be shown that we care about her. She didn't need you going off at her about any legality."

"She was eventually going to need to deal with that," the woman countered.

"Oh and having her deal with it after the traumatic way her past was revealed to us was the _best_ way to go about it," Greg said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Nick gave Greg a hard look, not wanting this conversation to escalate to a yelling match. He looked over at his old supervisor, surprised that the man had been silent since Sara had left the room. '_Oh crap,'_ he thought as he took in the other man's appearance.

Grissom's eyes were narrowed, his line of vision focusing on Catherine as anger radiated from them. The rage that was begging to be released was transferred into the force he used to clench his knuckles.

Nick watched the nightshift supervisor open his mouth and readied himself for a loud, vocal response. He raised an eyebrow, amazed at how low and quiet the man's voice could be.

"Get out."

All eyes turned to Grissom. "Excuse me?" Catherine asked.

"Get out," he repeated, a little louder than the first time.

"Gil," she started her voice pacifying.

"I want you out of my house, Catherine," Grissom interrupted, his voice low and even. When she didn't move, a fist slammed down onto the table. "Now!" he yelled and walked across the room, swiftly shutting off the music.

She looked at him, horrified at his response, before standing. "Fine," she said, grabbing her purse. "But you know I'm right, Gil. Sara's going to have to deal with how her past can affect her credibility as a CSI."

"Get out, Catherine," he growled, refusing to look at her.

She made an exasperated sound and headed for the door, leaving the others to deal with Grissom.

"I'll go calm Catherine down," Warrick informed the others. "You guys need to get him to calm down. Give Sar my love."

Nick and Greg nodded and then looked warily at one another. Nick looked back at the older man, watching as he unconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists. Anger radiated off of him in waves, his body tense and rigid. Slowly, Nick walked over to him, stopping a few feet away, his eyes focusing on the small trashcan. "Grissom," he started, looking back at the man.

"What?" he snapped, fixing a wrathful gaze on the young man.

"You need to calm down," the younger CSI said. "Sara seeing you like this isn't going to help."

Grissom closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he tried to control his breathing. After a few seconds he opened them, the anger lessened considerably. "I'm going for a walk," he informed the two men and started towards the door. He stopped and turned back to them.

"We'll stay with Sara," Greg answered the unspoken question.

He nodded and then turned and continued his trek.

Once they heard the door close, Nick and Greg let out a collective sigh before turning to look at the hallway and wondering if they would be able to do any good.

* * *

Open and clench. Open and clench. He walked down the sidewalk repeating the movement with his hands, cursing himself for forgetting his sunglasses as the Nevada sun beat down on him. He could feel the sweat already begin to form on his neck, a small trickle of it sliding down his back. The overwhelming emotions that he was experiencing forced him to continue walking. He was enraged at Catherine for the way she had behaved. He was furious at himself for not stopping her and for the way he had acted after Sara had escaped the confrontation. Shame also filled him because Nick had been the one to see that he needed to calm down and get out of the house.

Quickly, an overwhelming sense of apprehension was filling him at the thought of returning to his townhouse. As much as he disliked what Catherine had brought up, it would need to be dealt with. At least, he would need to discuss with Sara the possible ramifications that news of her past could have on her career.

The oncoming corner made Grissom stop, compelling him to make a decision. He could either cross the street and continue his course, moving further and further from his townhouse and delaying the inevitable discussion he needed to have with Sara, or turn around and deal with the situation. He sighed, unsure which would be the best course of action. Would it be better for Sara to put off the discussion or to tend to the matter as soon as possible?

Frowning, he wiped the sweat forming on his forehead. '_This is why I am reluctant to form personal relationships,'_ he thought, looking back towards his townhouse. _'I'm never sure what action I should take.'_

* * *

On some level, she was aware of Nick and Greg's voices on the other side of the door. Through a misty haze she could hear their urgent, soft pleas for her to open the door and talk with them, but she couldn't. At some point she had moved from her spot on the floor by the door to the bed, curling on top of the covers, closing her eyes in a desperate attempt to fend off the onslaught of memories. If she had any tears left to cry they would have been cascading down her face, but for the moment, there were none left to cry.

She saw her father's face. His eyes locked on hers as he crawled towards her, screaming for her to help him as her mother plunged the knife over and over into his back. She could see herself, pressed against the living room wall, silent screams erupting from her mouth, pulling her knees as close as she could to her body.

Sara relived the mixed feelings that she had had at that moment, fear for her father and of what her mother was doing and a sense of relief that he wouldn't be able to hurt them anymore. She clung to the pillow, shutting her eyes as tight as she could, mirroring her younger self, silent screams causing her adult body to shake.

She heard the door unlock and the knob turn. She tried to control herself, afraid of Greg and Nick seeing her in this emotional state, but she couldn't stop; she was too far gone. She heard the door close and let out a sob as Grissom's voice filled the room as he gently called her name. The pillow was crushed in her grip as she struggled to escape the emptiness that was chilling her to the bone.

She waited for the sound of the door closing again, sure that Grissom would escape the room and move as far as he could from her broken form, leaving her alone to fight her own demons. Isolation was becoming an ever present companion in the world she was living. Perhaps it was for the best. If she didn't try and create bonds with anyone, she would never be hurt again; she might never experience happiness either, but maybe that was a sacrifice she needed to make in order to survive.

The bed dipped under her and strong arms pulled her back, gently crushing her to his chest. She turned in his arms and buried her face into his shirt, dry, heaving sobs wracking her body.

Like before, he said nothing; he simply held her, allowing her time to release the emotions that she tried to bury.

Silently she cursed herself for ever doubting the man who held her tightly as she slowly began to relax.

Eventually, she pulled away from him, moving to the other side of the bed so that she could look at him. His calming gaze slowly began to melt the cold that swept through her veins, and she almost felt human again. Closing her eyes, a smile formed on her face as she felt Grissom's hand gently grip hers, causing warmth she had never experienced to course through her as she allowed the exhaustion she was feeling to overtake her.

* * *

Leaning back against the headboard of the guest bedroom, Grissom was reminded of words Sara had spoken years before. _'…when I wake up in a cold sweat under the blanket…'_ He frowned as he watched her forehead crinkle and her mouth twist as she entertained unpleasant dreams. She needed someone who could give her good dreams, someone who could fill her world with beauty. All he could offer her was death and his own insecurities.

_'I can't give her what she needs,'_ he thought angrily, removing his hand from hers and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He rested his head in his hands, every reason he had for not pursuing a relationship with Sara rushing through at him. He sighed, unsure how he was going to be able to explain any of them to her.

"It's okay," Sara said, her voice sounding very far away.

He turned, surprised that she was awake. Concern enveloped him as he looked at her, watching her drift further and further into herself.

She looked at her hand, the one he had been holding a few minutes earlier, and then smiled sadly at him. "I understand," she whispered. He looked at her questioningly, and she continued, closing her eyes and drawing her hand to her body. "I wouldn't be able to love someone as broken as me either."

His heart broke as he watched her struggle not to cry. He cursed himself and his insecurities. This wasn't about him; this was about her and what she needed. He moved to her side, pulling her body against his, kissing her hair as he murmured words of apology, trying to make her understand what a fool he was, especially when anything concerned her.

"I can't make you happy," he murmured into her hair.

"You already make me happy," Sara refuted, pulling back so he could see her face. "When you held my hand that made me happy."

He raised an eyebrow in doubt.

"I don't expect big flourishing decrees of love, Grissom," she continued. "I wouldn't know what to do with those. I just want you, all of you, baggage, insecurities, all of it."

The apprehension he was feeling hadn't dissipated. "I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"Then don't," she answered.

"It's that easy, is it?" he asked wryly.

She shrugged. "Beginning is easy. Continuing is hard," she informed him. Noticing his perplexed expression she continued, "I got that from a fortune cookie."

"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time, it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable," he quoted, pressing his lips again to her hair. "Sydney J. Harris."

Silence passed between the two of them as they both struggled with their inner thoughts. "How did he know?" Sara asked, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" Grissom responded, trying to determine what she meant.

"How did Dr. Doyle know about my past?" she asked, her forehead crinkling in contemplation. "It isn't in any of my files. I'm sure Marin County doesn't give copies of its social work files to just anyone."

"Doyle would have needed authorization," he mused, his mouth twisting in annoyance as he uttered the man's name. He lifted his arm and looked at the time on his watch. "Swing shift should be on."

Sara watched as he removed his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and quickly dialed a number. "Nick," he said as he twirled a piece of her hair with his fingers. "Have you looked at the second car yet?"She watched him listen intently to the other CSI, trying to gauge by his reactions to determine what was occurring.

"Inform Warrick that now is not a good time for she and I to converse," he answered gruffly before closing the phone.

"Catherine was only trying to help, in her own way," she said, surprised that she was defending the other woman's behavior.

He opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. Frowning, he answered it.

She watched with piqued interest as his expression turned grave.

"Thanks, Brass," he said and ended the call.

"What did he say?" she asked, trying to decipher his guarded expression.

"They are arraigning Dr. Doyle in an hour," he explained, his eyes moving across her face, attempting to analyze the change he saw. She had tensed considerably, her eyes narrowing as she bit her lip, her gaze far away. "Sara?"

She blinked and looked back at him. "I'm going," she said.

He opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it and instead nodded in agreement. He watched her rise from the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles that formed in her shirt as she stood. Watching her leave the room, he let out a sigh as he wondered how much longer they would have to endure the mayhem Dr. Doyle enjoyed creating. And how much more Sara would be able to handle.


	27. Chapter 27

**Illusions **

**Author: **Jess

**A/N: **Thanks so much to Rouchie and CSI4nsicAce for beta-ing this thing, which was going to be really short but took on a mind of its own. Special thanks to _Ray_ _for_ beta-ing this part so I could post it. And thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed, I love you all and have cherished every review I have received.

Thanks!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own them and I really couldn't afford them either.

**_Chapter Twenty-Seven_**

Walking through the back door, Sara couldn't help feeling that the courthouse was different. Usually when she walked through the doors she felt alive with a sense of purpose. She was there to help a victim find justice. As she flashed her CSI id card to the guard, she felt the walls closing in on her. The anxiety and terror, she had felt back in 1984 as she walked into the Marin County courthouse for the first time, was overcoming her. Her palms were sweating and her breathing was becoming shallow and labored.

She made a quick exit towards the women's bathroom, ignoring Grissom's calls for her. She braced herself against the sink, closing her eyes as she gripped the marble. _'Come on Sidle,_' she chided herself. '_Get a grip. You can do this.'_ Looking up into the mirror, she forced herself to control her breathing. Then, she began taking all of her emotions and putting them into a box in the back of her mind to deal with later. Finally, she stood up straight, inspecting her features for any sign of anxiety. Satisfied that there was none she exited the bathroom.

Grissom said nothing when she ventured out. He simply cocked his head in the direction of the court and started walking towards it. She slid easily into synch with his stride, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she felt his hand rest on the small of her back as he guided them into the room. They walked down the aisle, stopping at the first row behind the prosecutor's table.

The room was relatively empty. The court reporter and court clerk were both already in their seats, idly looking at the papers before them. In the back rows sat a few people, a mixture of law students observing court proceedings and a few casual observers. Sara's eyes traveled to the defense table, wondering how it would be to see Dr. Doyle on the other side, wanting to know how he had accomplished his crimes. There were still so many unanswered questions. How did he know about her past? How did he carry out each murder? Why did he murder them the way he did and then display them in such a peculiar fashion?

Sara turned her head as the courtroom doors opened and rose as she watched Tom Martin from the District Attorney's office enter the room with Brass. "Ms. Sidle, Dr. Grissom," Martin greeted, shaking both of their hands. "The evidence collected so far appears to be air tight and I know that the forensics department is still working hard to uncover more evidence to tie Dr. Doyle to these horrendous crimes."

"The fact that he broke into an employee of the police department's home does not bode well for him, nephew of the mayor or not," he continued, looking closely at Sara, a fake smile of condolence on his face. "How are you coping with the invasion to your privacy, Ms. Sidle?"

"Fine," she said, forcing a smile of her own.

"Good," the attorney said, barely acknowledging her reply. "I don't expect the judge to allow for bail based on the charges, but we never know. Excuse me," he ended and left them.

"He's the best attorney from the office," Brass commented as he sat down beside them.

Sara nodded in consent to that fact as she slid down to the bench. "Doesn't change that he's a major ass, though," he continued.

"Do you know who Doyle has acquired for legal counsel?" Grissom asked. "Is Ben Pierce still representing him?"

The captain shrugged. "We'll all find out at the same time," he replied, looking towards the courtroom doors as they opened again. "It's Pierce," he informed the CSIs.

As he passed by them, Sara looked down at her watch. '_Five minutes until __three o'clock__,'_ she thought and looked towards one of the side doors. That was where Dr. Doyle would enter from. She sat up straighter, perfecting her mask of indifference, not wanting the man to think he had any affect on her, annoyed at herself for allowing him to have affected her life to the degree he had so far.

Her gaze traveled around the room, dismayed at her altered view of it. She had been in this very courtroom less than two weeks ago, testifying about the chain of custody of evidence in a sexual abuse case. It was not as though she had rose colored glasses on when viewing the court. She had seen countless murders, thieves, and predators allowed back on the street, she knew the topsy turvy legal system all too well. But whenever she was in this room, or any of the courtrooms, she had always believed that justice would prevail.

_'Justice is greater than our personal feelings.'_ Melissa Winters had said those words at the last trial she had ever prosecuted. Sara looked at the table in front of them. It had been in this court room where she had heard the last, captivating speech from Melissa before everything turned to dust, and she had learned another valuable life lesson. No matter what, Melissa's speech concerning the importance of justice had struck a chord with her. Justice needed to be embraced here, any personal concerns pushed aside in the acquisition of it.

But now, as she looked around the room, her eyes traveling over the witness stand, she couldn't feel any of the hope that was usually attached to this place. It had disappeared, replaced by a sense of despair and anguish that she hadn't experienced since the first time she had ever been brought into a courtroom, forced to testify about what had happened that fateful day in her house.

A frown seemed to be pasted to her face, her forehead crinkled in anger. She wondered how long this was going to go on, how many weeks, months would the trial be? To what extent would her past be brought out in court by the defense to discredit her and the evidence she had collected? What ramifications would there be towards her job? She sighed inwardly, fearing the answer to all of those questions.

The side door opened, and she tensed as she watched a court officer bring in Dr. Doyle. He scanned the room, his gaze finally resting on her, and smiled that sickly smile at her. She fought back the gag reflex and glared at him, allowing Grissom's hand to find hers, and taking the comfort he was offering, instead of following her instinct to push his hand away.

"Any idea what he's pleading?" Brass inquired, forcing Sara's attention from the doctor.

She shrugged, unsure of the answer and knowing that it would have a direct effect on how long the trial would be. If he pleaded not guilty in any form, there would be a drawn-out trial, preceded by a lengthy pretrial preparation period. And the media would have a field day with the case. Dr. Doyle's relationship to the mayor would be paramount to reporters and eventually her own connection to the case would be brought out, which could lead to all types of inquiries into her own background. She inwardly cringed, dreading the admittance of his plea to the court.

It was through a blur that she rose as Judge Mulligan entered the courtroom and began the arraignment hearing. She barely acknowledged the debate for bail, unconsciously pleased that the judge had denied bail for the heinousness of the crimes. She heard him ask for the defendant's plea, holding her breath for an eternity as she waited for his answer, knowing that it would seal her fate.

"Guilty," Dr. Doyle said his voice void of any emotion.

She let out the breath she had been holding as she gasped, but it was muffled by the murmurs erupting throughout the courtroom. "Order!" the judge demanded, striking his gavel once, sending a shriveling gaze to the courtroom occupants. He turned back to the defendant's table, and continued, "Mr. Pierce have you advised your client of what entering a guilty verdict entails?"

"I have, your honor," Pierce replied.

"Very well," Mulligan stated. "Dr. Doyle you are hereby remanded to the custody of the Clark County police department until your sentencing."

The sound of the gavel once again erupting through the room caused Sara to squeeze Grissom's hand at the news. She looked towards Doyle and Pierce, unmoved by the salacious look the doctor was sending her way. She watched the court officer hand cuff him and allowed a satisfied smile to brighten her face as he was brought out of the courtroom.

"I can't believe he pleaded guilty," she admitted, looking at Grissom, bewilderment dominating her features.

He was frowning and she could tell he was mulling over what had just happened. "Something else is at work here," he said, his frown intensifying. "Doyle would not want a speedy resolution to this."

Before she could reply, Martin was by their side, smiling broadly. "Well, that made are lives a lot easier," he stated. "However, we're going to need all the evidence we can, Dr. Grissom, in order to make sure Dr. Doyle will receive the most ample punishment for these crimes."

Grissom nodded and Martin's smile grew. He nodded towards them and then exited the courtroom. "I need to get back to the precinct," Brass informed them as he stood. "I have more reports to finish than I care to think of."

They both nodded in response, watching him depart, before turning to look at one another. "What do you think?" she asked, wondering what the next step was.

Grissom shook his head. "I want to know what progress Nick and Warrick have made on the second car," he said and rose.

She nodded and followed his lead in standing. "Lab?" she asked and smiled as he nodded in consent.

She exited the aisle, stopping a few feet from it, as man stood blocking their way. "Dr. Grissom, Ms. Sidle," he said in greeting. "The mayor would like a word with you."

Grissom raised an eyebrow and cast a questioning look towards Sara. She shrugged and he nodded to the man, unconsciously placing his hand on her back as they followed the aide to another room in the courthouse, wondering what this new event had in store for them.

* * *

The scenario was so clichéd that Sara struggled to stop herself from laughing out loud or rolling her eyes. She had the overwhelming feeling that she was an actor on a primetime cop show instead of participating in her own real life drama. Grissom and she had been herded into one of the courthouse conference rooms. The mayor, with his political advisor sitting on one side of the long table, motioned for them to take a seat. Casting a sidelong look at Grissom, she followed his lead and sat down.

The mayor nodded to the young aide, who left the room, closing the door behind him. "The less who are privy to this conversation, the better, I am afraid," Mayor Stephen Blaney explained, a grim smile on his face.

Neither CSI commented, both intent on learning the meaning of this meeting before speaking. Blaney looked intently at both of them, silently trying to read their facial expressions. After a few seconds he gave up and sighed. The two of them were giving nothing away.

"I'm sure you want to know why I had you brought here," he started. "My office was informed of my nephews arrest this morning and of the nature of the crime he has committed. I have no doubt that the forensics department has done everything according to the law and that all of the evidence is without reproach. After all it is the second best lab in the country."

If the mayor had been expecting either of them to show a response to his flattery he was disappointed. Sara forced her hands to remain motionless, wishing the man would get to the point and stop with all the pleasantries. She had a pretty good feeling that Grissom felt the same way.

The mayor smiled at them, probably trying to use the charm that had won him so many votes in the last election, but only reminding Sara of Doyle's sickening one. "I want to express my sincere apologies for any hurt that William may have acted upon you, Ms. Sidle," he said, his voice anything but sincere.

When she made no attempt to acknowledge him, he continued, "I wanted to know what you are going to do now that William has pleaded guilty."

Her forehead scrunched in confusion, unsure what he meant. "Go back to work," she replied.

"Of course, Ms. Sidle," Blaney said a placating smile on his face. "But what charges, if any, of your own are you planning on filing?"

She opened her mouth to ask what he was really after but closed it when she felt Grissom's hand touch her arm. "Just say it, Mr. Blaney," Grissom said his voice tight with anger. "You want to know if there will be any political ramifications for you."

"The press has now learned of this, Dr. Grissom," the mayor informed them. "And they are already calling my office and yours to learn what they can about William. They will want to know if Ms. Sidle is planning on filing additional charges and if so against whom."

"Is there any reason why you or your wife would be brought into a civil suit?" Grissom asked.

"No," he said but the few seconds Blaney took before responding contradicted him.

Grissom's eyes narrowed. "What are you not telling us?" he asked, forcing himself to remain calm.

"After his wife's death we had William undergo a psychiatric exam," Blaney stated. "The psychiatrist recommended that he continue further therapy at an inpatient facility because there were some underlying issues that needed to be looked at. William did not want to and we didn't press the issue."

"The psychiatrist didn't say anything?" Sara asked.

"The bonus we gave him deterred any further inquiry," the mayor said.

"If Dr. Doyle needed psychiatric help why didn't you want him to have it?" Sara asked. Her eyes widened as she realized the answer. "You were afraid of the political ramifications having your nephew in a psychiatric hospital could cause," she said voicing her thoughts.

The mayor didn't answer but the look on his face let her know she was correct. "There is no proof that if Dr. Doyle had received psychological help that this could have been prevented," the political advisor stated.

"Of course not," Grissom said acrimoniously. "However, if he had been in the inpatient facility the likelihood of him killing the three women and stalking my CSI would have decreased dramatically."

"Now see here--" Blaney said, his voice rising as his face reddened in anger.

"Three women are dead because of your ambition," Grissom growled.

The mayor and his advisor looked at the night shift supervisor vehemently, and Sara could see that this conversation was soon going to deteriorate into a yelling match.

"I will not be filing any other charges, sir," Sara interrupted, trying to calm the situation. "I want nothing more than to put all of this as far behind me as possible."

"At least one of you is reasonable," the mayor muttered, fixing a pointed look at Grissom.

"However," she continued, "I cannot tell you what the families of the other three victims will want to do, Mr. Blaney."

"I see no reason for them to find out what I just told you," the mayor replied.

An exasperated snort escaped Sara before she could stop herself. "Do you honestly expect us to ignore that information?" she asked, surprised that he would even insinuate that.

"District Attorney Martin and I have talked and do not see how it has any bearing on the case," Blaney replied, leaning back in his chair. "Especially since William has pled guilty."

"That's rather convenient," Grissom remarked, his tone bitter.

"I would think that you would rather he plead guilty, Dr. Grissom," the mayor replied. "He'll rot away in prison, and Ms. Sidle will be free to continue working as a CSI."

"We work the evidence, Mr. Blaney," the night shift supervisor said. "If evidence of your negligence with Dr. Doyle's mental health comes to light, it will be documented and given as evidence to the district attorney's office."

"I'm sure that Conrad would have a different opinion on that matter," he replied, the comfortable air that had been around him dissipating and a colder one seeping through the room.

"Conrad Ecklie can have what ever opinion he desires, Mr. Blaney," Grissom said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "I follow the evidence and I am sure the tax payers would rather I do my job then cover your ass."

"I believe that is all we have to say to one another then," Blaney replied curtly.

"I believe it is," Grissom stated and rose, Sara following suit.

As the two exited the conference room, she winced at the force that Grissom used to close the door. He was angry and she didn't blame him. Politics were a part of the job she could do without. Leaving the courthouse, she frowned at the tension he was exuding.

"You okay?" she asked as he unlocked the Denali.

"No," he answered gruffly before closing the car door.

She closed her door and buckled her seat belt, waiting for him to start the SUV. After a minute had passed and he hadn't turned the ignition she glanced over at him, noting the whiteness of his knuckles as he tightly gripped the steering wheel. "Sometimes I do not know why I still do this job," he finally said, breaking the tense silence.

His grip on the steering wheel weakened, and Sara gave him a wry smile. "You love your job," she replied. "It's the politics you can't stand."

He looked at her, a smile mirroring her own gracing his face. "I always told myself the day I had to become politically savvy to do this was the day I would quit," he informed her, his smile drifting away.

"You could quit?" she asked, surprised at this information.

"There are days when I seriously contemplate it," he told her.

"What makes you stay?" she asked.

He didn't answer right away, looking seriously at her, and she was afraid she had asked the wrong question. "Sorry, Grissom," she started, trying to back peddle. "I shouldn't have--"

"You," he said, interrupting her. "Well, not just you. Nick, Warrick, Catherine, Brass… even Greg."

His mouth hung slightly open and she could tell he was trying to put his feelings into words. "Catherine once told me that a family was being formed around me, whether I wanted one or not," he said, tilting his head as he remembered the day, a small smile forming on his lips. "And one has."

She nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. They were her family too. "I don't think I truly grasped that until Ecklie broke the team up," he continued. "Work hasn't been the same. It never will be again. But I'll keep coming if it means I get to see you and all of them."

Sara smiled in response, knowing that no words were necessary. She was thrilled that he had decided to allow her another glimpse into the mysterious Grissom psyche. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. "The lab?" he asked, turning on the ignition.

"Definitely," she replied. "I want to know if they've found anything else out."

* * *

As the Denali pulled into a parking space, Sara braced herself for the reactions she would be receiving when she walked through the back door. She had no illusions about the rumor mill that efficiently worked its way through the crime lab. The information about her past that Dr. Doyle had blurted out only a few hours ago would have circulated through both day and swing shifts and probably trickled over to night shift employees also.

Unbuckling her seat belt, she forced a smile on her face and turned to look at Grissom. With a concerned gaze he scanned her face. She dropped the smile, knowing it was fooling no one, and shrugged before turning and opening the door. It was best to get this over with sooner than later. She preferred the method of ripping the band-aid off in one swift motion to gently prying it off and prolonging the agony.

Shutting the door, she walked forward, stepping onto the sidewalk and waiting for him to meet her there. "Where to first?" she asked, placing her sunglasses on the top of her head as they walked into the building.

"You are not allowed to process any of the evidence," Grissom reminded her, as they walked down the hallway.

She knew this path all too well. They were heading towards his office. She hoped he wasn't under the impression that she would allow herself to sit idly in there. '_He knows you better than that, Sara,'_ she thought shaking her head in annoyance at herself.

"I need to get my messages," he said, causing her to look at him. "And I'll find out what Nick and Warrick know."

She nodded and glanced at the threshold of his office. "I'll meet you back here in five minutes," she said and continued off of his perplexed look. "I need to see someone."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and headed towards a different office. She stopped at the doorway, studying the woman sitting at the desk and feverishly signing papers and looking at reports. Any anger Sara had felt towards her had evaporated a while ago. Grissom was right; they were a family, and she needed to make sure things were okay between the two of them for everyone's sake.

"Hey," Sara said, knocking softly on the metal doorframe.

"Hey, yourself," Catherine replied, smiling sadly as she looked up from the paperwork and motioning her inside.

Sara closed the door as she entered, not wanting the rest of the lab to be privy to the conversation. She sat in one of the seats, ruminating on what she wanted to say. Glancing at the swing shift supervisor, she could see that she was not the only one struggling for words.

"I was out of line," Catherine began.

Sara quickly interrupted her. "It wasn't as though I was making it easy for you," she said, pursing her lips in thought.

"True," the other woman replied, smiling. "But when have you ever made anything easy?" she continued jokingly.

"Hey now," Sara said, allowing a small smile to play on her lips.

Silence fell on the room as the two women silently laughed. Their relationship may have started off rocky, and wasn't always peaches and roses, but when it came down to it they were friends. After all, Catherine was the one who had brought her out for drinks after the Hank debacle. They were both strong, opinionated women and were not always going to see eye to eye. That didn't mean they couldn't be friends though.

"I heard Doyle pleaded guilty," Catherine said, breaking the silence.

"He did," Sara responded, her mouth twisting in thought. "The mayor called us into a meeting afterwards. He had an inkling of his nephew not being exactly stable."

She watched the older woman shake her head. "He wanted you to keep it quiet, didn't he?" she asked.

Sara nodded. "Grissom showed no political savvy, did he?" Catherine asked.

"No."

"Of course not," Catherine said and sighed. Her forehead crinkled in thought. "Do you think Doyle pleaded guilty to appease his uncle?"

"The thought has crossed my mind," Sara answered. She looked down at her watch, remembering that she needed to meet up with Grissom soon. "We're good?"

"Of course," Catherine replied, a hesitant look passing over her face before she continued, "Sara…?"

"The guys giving you problems?" the younger CSI asked, already knowing the answer. She stood and started towards the door. "I'll talk to them."

"Sara," Catherine called as her hand touched the doorknob.

She turned and nodded for the swing shift supervisor to continue. "Watch out for Ecklie," she warned. "He's on a warpath."

"Thanks for the heads up," Sara said and exited the room, glad that her relationship with Catherine was back to status quo.

* * *

Gil Grissom sighed as he walked into his office and without a thought sat down in his chair. He placed the evidence bag down on the desk and looked warily at it. He didn't know how he was going to tell her about this. He cringed, knowing he would need to. Eyes closing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and then looked back at the object on his desk. Through the clear bag with the red lettering was a plain black, spiral notebook. There was nothing conspicuous about it from the outside. It was when you opened it that its significance was known.

Inside was Sara's handwriting, pages and pages of her thoughts, of her recounting what had happened that fateful night in her childhood, as well as her feelings and frustrations in regards to a number of people. He removed his glasses, gently biting on the tips, as he tried to think of a way to tell her that not only had Dr. Doyle seen this but so had Nick and Warrick also. It had contained her deepest secrets and now it had been laid bare for all to see.

Grissom knew how he would feel if someone had been allowed access to his private thoughts without permission, outraged and discombobulated. He was pretty sure Sara would have the same kind of reaction. What troubled him more was that it wasn't all they had found. Nick and Warrick were still going over the cartload of evidence they had gathered from the veterinarian's car and office. A gentle knock caused him to look up and he couldn't stop himself from smiling.

Sara stood in his doorway, smiling a genuine smile, the tension from earlier seeming to have disappeared from her body. "Hey," she greeted and quickly took up residence in one of the chairs. "I talked to Catherine."

"Oh," he replied, placing his glasses down on the table.

"Yeah," she continued. "You should talk to her too."

"I will."

His gaze grazed over the evidence bag, unsure how to go about telling her the news. He really didn't want to change the amiable atmosphere that was currently surrounding them. Giving in, he frowned as he held up the evidence bag, allowing her to see it clearly.

Her chocolate eyes widened in surprise and disbelief before narrowing in annoyance and anger. "So that's how he knew about my past," she said.

"We believe so," Grissom answered, laying the bag back down on his desk.

"Where did they find it?" she asked. There was no emotion in her voice and it worried him.

"In his office."

She nodded and looked away, concentrating on the edge of his desk. He watched her; unsure what to say, what she needed or wanted to hear. She looked back up at him and continued, "Did they find anything else?"

"Sara," he started.

"Damn it, Grissom," she said, her voice low but still forceful. "Just tell me."

He nodded. "There was a photo album of pictures of you from your childhood and teenage years, an old address book, letters to you spanning back a couple of years," he told her, hesitating briefly before continuing. "And there was a small wooden box too."

Her eyes widened again, fear and embarrassment spreading across her face. "Did you see in it?" she asked her voice hollow.

He nodded again. "You must think I'm…" her voice trailed off, and she refused to look at him.

"You kept the course curriculum packet from the summer class I taught," he said, breaking the silence that had fallen.

He didn't think it was possible but she turned even redder. "If it makes you feel any better, I still have the wrapping paper you used to wrap the art book you gave me for Christmas," he informed her.

She finally looked at him. "A little," Sara replied.

"I'll never understand why you kept your feelings for me all these years after the way I've treated you," Grissom said, looking away from her this time.

"Must be love," she replied and then gasped, mirroring his shocked expression. "Uh, listen…I…crap," she cringed, burying her face in her hands.

"Must be," he finally said, when his vocal chords worked again. He cleared his throat and continued, "And Sara, just so you know, it's a mutual feeling."

She looked back up at him, giving a hesitant smile. He smiled back at her, trying to show her with his eyes all the feelings he held for her but knowing that he would never be able to show her all of them so easily. Just like Sara Sidle was a complicated mystery that he was forever learning new pieces to, his feelings for her were just as intricate and endless.

Conrad Ecklie's voice interrupted and forced both of them to look towards the doorway. "Good, you're both here," the man said, walking into the office and shutting the door behind him.

He sat down in the chair beside Sara, and she forced herself to remain seated and not give into the urge to move as far away from him as possible.

"How can we help you, Conrad?" Grissom asked, forcing himself to be professional.

"Sara, because of Doyle's…fixation on you, you're on paid leave for three days," Ecklie began. "We want to make sure you're ready when coming back to work so you will need to see the office psychologist before returning."

Sara nodded, making sure not to show any sign of annoyance at this request. Eclkie wasn't being nice; he merely wanted to know if she was able to competently work.

"I received a call from the mayor and the district attorney's office," Ecklie continued. "As of this moment, night shift is off the Doyle case."

"That was night shift's case, Conrad," Grissom stated, annoyance evident in his voice.

"Not anymore, it isn't," the assistant director replied. "Swing shift is now in charge of collecting and analyzing any and all evidence that has been or will be collected."

Ecklie gave a wicked smile before continuing, "You did this to yourself, Gil. You know that politics are part of this job."

With that said, he stood and walked towards the door. He turned back towards them, his hand on the doorknob, and continued, "Either you need to embrace that fact or walk away."

Sara watched him leave; the door shutting behind him, before turning back to Grissom, concern etched in her every feature. He was staring at the door, his face blank, his eyes void of emotion. Silently, he rose from his chair, a stiff frown lacing his features. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it when she couldn't think of anything adequate to say. He removed paper from a drawer in the filing cabinet and then sat back down.

He methodically put pen to paper, writing for a few minutes before folding the paper. After removing an envelope from the top drawer, he placed the paper inside, and quickly licked it closed. "I'm not on for another few hours, why don't we go for a drive?" he asked, rising once again from his chair.

Sara nodded as she rose, trying to decipher this change in behavior. He smiled at her and lifted the evidence bag and envelope from the table before walking towards the door. She followed him, watching his movements, as they walked through the hallway. He stopped at the doorway to the evidence room and briefly conversed with Warrick and Nick before handing them the evidence bag. She nodded to both guys before following Grissom on his trek through the lab.

They stopped again, this time at the reception desk and she watched him smile at the receptionist. "Can you please make sure Conrad Ecklie receives both of these," he informed the young woman, handing over the envelope and a set of keys.

Sara stared at the keys, wondering what it could mean, before Grissom's hand on her back steered her out of the lab. They stopped in front of her car and she cast a brief look at him before fishing her keys from her purse. When they were both buckled in and she had pulled out of the parking lot, she was finally able to ask what she had been wanting to for the last few minutes.

"What did you give to Amber, the receptionist?" she asked, looking sideways at him.

He let out a long sigh before answering, "My letter of resignation."

"What?" Sara asked, looking at him in shock.

"The road, Sara," Grissom reminded her and she refocused her attention on driving.

That was it, Gil Grissom had gone insane. There was no other way to explain what had just happened. She blinked, looking to see what crossroads she was passing. Maneuvering her car, she turned at the next crossroad, and pulled into the parking lot. She turned off the car and took a deep breath, counted to ten and then looked at him.

"Come on, you're buying me a latte and then telling me what the hell just happened," Sara informed him as she removed the keys.

"I already told you…"

"Latte first," she growled and unbuckled herself, opening her door and getting out of the car.

She waited for him to follow before locking the car and walking towards the small coffee shop. He had mastered the fine art of unveiling information that made her need to stop and focus her attention on what was revealed, especially since any small detail that he provided needed to be analyzed and combed through in order to gain a better understanding of the enigma that was Gil Grissom.

Entering the shop, she made a beeline for the counter, quickly ordering a tall vanilla latte and a chocolate chip muffin. Grissom ordered next and she moved to pick up their orders as he paid. Taking their drinks and muffins she found a table away from the few occupants.

After taking a long sip, she put her drink down and looked at him, resting back against the seat. "Okay, explain," she said, motioning to him.

"I resigned," he answered, bringing the mug up to his lips.

She gave him a pointed look and he sighed. "Ecklie was right," he started, placing the mug on the table. "I was either going to need to become more political and learn to play the game or I could leave."

She nodded, encouraging him to continue. "I won't play their games anymore, Sara," Grissom explained.

"What are you going to do then?" she asked, bringing her latte to her lips.

"I don't know," he informed her, leaning back in his seat.

Sara looked at him, surprised that he wasn't anxious or tense about this. Granted, when she had been suspended by Ecklie earlier in the year and the prospect of being fired had been quite realistic, she hadn't been nervous either. But that was different. She hadn't cared about anything at that point, too numb with her own pain to worry about her career. But Grissom, she couldn't understand how he could calmly sit across from her. Then again, this was Grissom, and he was a master at hiding his feelings, but for some reason she had the feeling that he truly didn't care.

The way her mouth was repeatedly opening and closing reminded Grissom of a fish. He knew she was desperately trying to find the right words to use. He was doing the same thing, grappling with his brain for a quote he could use to explain. As he watched her mouth open and close again, he gave up on his mental search and realized that he needed to use his own words for this, no one else's.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Sara," he said, watching her mouth hang open slightly as he spoke. "And I really don't care what I do either."

She moved to talk and he quickly interrupted her, "Let me explain."

Leaning back in her chair, she nodded for him to continue. He briefly looked down at the wooden table, gathering his thoughts and attempting to form sentences with them. "Have I ever told you why I became an entomologist?" he asked, looking back at her.

He could see the inner battle in her face as she controlled the quick retort that was desperately trying to make its way out of her mouth and instead shook her head for him to continue.

"I was five when my father left," he started, placing the mug on the table as he gathered his thoughts. "I remember sitting on the curb by our house for hours and waiting for him to come back. All I did was sit, ignoring my neighbors and mother's attempts to get me to play or at least go inside. I couldn't understand how he could simply take off and leave me and my mother behind."

"A couple of feet from where I had taken up post was an ant colony," he continued, the corners of his mouth curling into a small smile as he remembered. "One of the games the other boys played was killing the ants as they trailed back to the hill."

"I'm sure you enjoyed watching that," Sara said, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

"I had no opinion of insects then, besides registering the annoyance my mother had regarding the ants that built colonies inside our house," Grissom replied.

"I think it's a feature of California," Sara quipped. "There should be signs for anyone moving to that state, 'Beware, you will have ants'."

She smiled widely as he laughed and then motioned for him to continue. "I sat for hours on end with nothing to do but stare at the road and the sidewalk," he continued. "I began to notice the ants, watching as they began their trek from the tree stump across the sidewalk and towards different areas of the neighborhood before returning with their different spoils. I began to notice that every so often one of the ants would be carrying one of its dead back to the colony."

"In my five year old head I was fascinated by that, intrigued that ants didn't leave any of their family behind like my father did to us," he finished, a wry smile on his face. "Of course, I began reading anything I could get my hands on about ants, asking questions to anyone who would listen, and when that didn't work I began watching and recording what I saw the different species of ants do."

"And so Gil Grissom the entomologist was born," she said, grasping her glass with both hands.

He nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "I moved on from ants and began reading everything I could find on insects and studying the ones I could find," he explained. "And when I was older and allowed to venture to the beach by myself I began studying the different insects that developed on the decaying corpses of animals that I found."

"And from there it wasn't a far step away from studying the insect activity on a human corpse," she remarked.

He placed the mug back down and sighed. "I miss being wholly involved in cases," he informed her. "All I ever seem to be doing is paperwork and trying to work nicely with Ecklie. I've been disenchanted with the current situation for a while, Sara. It wasn't a rash decision."

She gave him a look and he smiled before correcting himself, "Okay, it was a rash decision but it was one that was going to present itself in due course. It was simply a lot sooner than I expected."

"Do you have any idea what you're going to do?" she asked, idly rolling the glass between her hands.

"The university has been after me for sometime to teach some courses," Grissom said. "And Edward Cormier has been looking to leave the body farm and wants me to step in to head the research."

Her hands stopped their movements and she looked at him, her mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief. "You've really been giving this a lot of thought," she said, not quite believing the words leaving her mouth.

"There were certain areas of my life I saw could be improved if perhaps I continued on elsewhere," he explained, looking down at the mug in front of him and then back up at her. "Primarily in regards to my social life, or lack there of."

Her mouth formed a perfect O as she grasped the implications of his words. He watched her perform her fish act again with her mouth and smiled. His cell phone began ringing and he removed it, quickly checking to see who was calling, before silencing the call. "Who was it?" she asked, her brain seeming to function again.

His answer was cut off by the ringing of her cell phone. She flipped it open and answered it, before quickly moving the offending object a few centimeters away from her ear as Conrad Ecklie's voice reverberated through it. She raised an eyebrow as Grissom removed the phone from her hand and swiftly closed the call, before turning her phone off.

She watched him casually place her phone down and return to drinking his coffee. "I believe you're on paid leave for three days, and I'm no longer employed," Grissom began.

Sara nodded, not quite believing the whirlwind of information she had just been told. "How do you feel about enjoying sites and sounds of Pahrump with me for a couple of days?" he asked, placing his mug back down.

She opened her mouth, unsure of how to respond. "A wise young woman once told me that she knew what to do about 'this'," he continued, motioning between the two of them. "I'd like to take the opportunity to see where this can lead us."

A smile played on her lips and she nodded. "Pahrump, huh?" she asked.

"I believe I ruined one of your trips to there. The least I can do is make it up to you," he replied and rose from his seat.

"Now?" she asked, surprised at his impulsive behavior.

"There is no time like the present," he said.

She rose from her seat and smiled brightly. She started for the door, her smile growing as his hand rested on the small of her back. "What kind of ant was it in California that got you hooked on insects?" she asked as he opened the door.

"Camponotus modoc, the black carpenter ant," Grissom informed her. "I have a jar of them preserved in my bedroom."

She laughed at the absurdity of it and the fact that she found it rather endearing, which was probably why she didn't realize he had moved closer to her until his breath tickled her ear.

"Perhaps I can show it to you sometime," he continued, the timbre of his voice causing her body to shiver, and her mind to reel with the implications from those words.

* * *

Greg Sanders closed the door to his silver Passat and began his trek towards the back door to the crime lab. He was almost half an hour early and hoping to see Sara before they were all thrown into the whirlwind of cases for the night. When he and Nick had left the townhouse they had seen her lying on the bed, crying softly, before Grissom closed the door and they had silently retreated. All he wanted to do was see that she was alright and maybe be able to use some of his charm to cheer her up again.

_'Laughter really is the best medicine,'_ he thought as he entered the crime lab. She had laughed once at his attempts to cheer her up and he wanted to make her laugh that way again, to wipe away the sorrow that had settled into her once carefree eyes. It was his goal and he wasn't leaving the lab until it happened.

Passing by the swing shift supervisor's office, he looked in surprise to see Catherine leaning against the wall, her forehead touching the cool surface, and Nick and Warrick looking awestruck at her. He watched her turn and shake her head in disbelief.

"I can't believe he did this!" Catherine yelled.

Greg slipped closer to the room, wondering what the discussion was about, and hoping that Catherine wasn't discussing Sara again. "Who's supposed to run night shift?" she continued, her hands flailing about as she began pacing the room.

"And Sara's on leave. That leaves only two CSIs," Nick remarked.

"Which means we'll be pulling lots of doubles," Warrick groaned, leaning back into the chair.

"Sara's on leave?" Greg asked, causing all of them to look over at him.

"Inside and close the door," Catherine hissed.

He quickly complied and looked questioningly at the three. "What's going on? Why is Sara on leave?"

"Ecklie gave Sara three days paid leave," Nick informed the younger man.

"That's good," Greg replied, unsure what the problem was. "It'll probably allow for the rumor mill to run its course."

Warrick nodded. "Any rumors about Sara and her past or Dr. Doyle will be pushed aside once the lab gets a hold of the latest," Catherine groaned and slid into her chair. "I cannot believe him!"

Greg looked at Nick. "Grissom gave Ecklie his letter of resignation," the Texan said.

Astonishment was the only thing the former lab tech was able to show. "What?"

"I'm going to kill him!" Catherine exclaimed.

"He really gave his resignation?" Greg asked.

Warrick nodded before replying, "I never thought I'd see the day Grissom didn't work here."

"Is Ecklie gloating?" Greg asked.

"No," Nick said. "He's currently being reamed out by the sheriff who wants this mattered resolved."

"Where is Grissom?" Greg asked, not quite believing all that he had been told.

"Your guess is as good as any," Catherine said, slamming a folder irritably onto the table. "Wherever he is he better be having fun, because when he gets back, I am going to kill him."

* * *

She wasn't a girl anymore.

Grissom blinked and focused his attention on the woman in front of him, watching her listen intently to the tour guide rambling on about the vineyard. He was unsure why that thought had grabbed hold of his mind, but there were so many truths wrapped up in the simple sentence.

She wasn't a girl anymore. She had changed, the once exuberant, playful attitude that he had first encountered had given way to a more serious, somber one. He wondered what had been the catalyst for this change, fearing that he knew the cause of it all too well, hating himself for tarnishing some of her natural light.

Sara turned to look at him, a full blown smile on her face, and tugged him towards where the rest of the group was, informing him of the wine making process as they walked. He smiled back at her, marveling in the way bits of the girl he had met years ago would seep from her. She was different away from work, the tension he usually saw surrounding her was minimal; instead she was smiling more than he had seen her do in the last few years.

He watched her mouth open and close, hearing the words come from it, but not comprehending any of the information. A faint smell of vanilla mocha reached his nostrils. He vaguely remembered Sara applying lip gloss to her lips as they exited her car and began to wonder if the delectable smell was coming from her lips, imagining what it would be like to taste them.

Her mouth had stopped moving; instead it was settled into a frown. His eyes moved to look at her eyes, wondering why she was frowning. A mischievous sparkle shone throw her chocolate eyes and her frown turned into a playful grin as she shook her head at him.

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" she asked, folding her arms in front of her, her head cocking to the side questioningly.

He wracked his brain, trying to remember anything she might have been talking about and coming up empty. Her body shook with silent laughter before she turned away and started walking down the path. She stopped a few feet away and turned to look at him. "Are you coming?"

Grissom nodded and took a few long steps to catch up to her. "Just enjoying the view," he murmured as they began walking.

Sara stopped and groaned, punching him lightly in the arm. "That was horrible, Grissom," she said, shaking her head. "Horrible and cheesy and lame. I'd expect to hear Greg or Nick saying something like that, but, ugh…"

"I'm sorry," he replied, guiding her towards the vineyard's restaurant. "Would it have been better if I had quoted Shakespeare or Bourdillon?"

She let out another groan as they followed the waiter towards a table. Taking her seat she couldn't help but smile at Grissom's relaxed behavior. Her cell phone sprang to life, interrupting the calm atmosphere surrounding them. "Sorry," she said, and removed her phone from her purse.

He shook his head, turning his attention to the menu in front of him as she answered the call. The phone moved a few centimeters from her ears and she cringed as Catherine's voice came over the line.

"What is going on?" the swing shift supervisor demanded.

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, flipping open her menu.

"Sara Sidle, do not even try to be evasive with me," Catherine growled. "I'm just about to go back to work after pulling a double, working with Sofia, and my daughter decided this morning to rant and rave about wanting to get a tattoo. I am not in the mood."

"Sorry, Catherine, but what do you want to know?" Sara asked, forcing herself not to laugh.

"Did he really resign?"

"Yeah," she replied, perusing the menu.

"He's gone insane, hasn't he?" Catherine asked and released a slow sigh.

"He's always been crazy," Sara quipped, ignoring the glare Grissom shot her.

"The waiter is coming over, what do you want?" he asked, looking pointedly at her phone.

"One second, Catherine," she said and moved her hand to cover the phone. "It's your fault for leaving your phone in the car. You knew everyone would try to contact you."

She looked back at the menu and then back up at him. "I'll have the portabella mushroom dish," she informed him.

"White wine?" he asked.

She nodded and moved the phone back to her ear. "Sorry," she said. "How is everyone?"

"Tired," the other woman said. "And trying to stay out of Ecklie's warpath."

"Oh?" Sara asked. "I thought he'd be gloating?"

"The sheriff wasn't very keen on Gil's sudden resignation and let Ecklie know that," Catherine responded.

The waiter was at the table and Sara watched Grissom order for the two of them. "Where are the two of you?" Catherine probed.

"Out," Sara replied evasively. She didn't want any of them coming out to Pahrump and spoiling the mood. "I have to go Catherine. Good luck with shift."

She quickly hung up the call and turned her phone off before looking at Grissom. "Catherine thinks you've gone insane," she informed him as she placed her phone back in her purse.

"What else is new," he mused.

"The sheriff isn't happy," Sara continued. "So now Ecklie isn't happy and is apparently making everyone's life a nightmare."

"Hmmm," he replied.

"You can not honestly tell me that you don't care?" she asked, startled by his indifference.

Grissom let out a sigh. "I care, Sara," he replied. "However, I have more important things to dwell on at the moment."

She looked down, her forehead scrunching in concentration as she tried to determine what that was. "I have a lot of unanswered questions that I'd like to try and find the answer to," he continued.

"Like what?" she questioned.

She looked back at him, taken back by the passion and desire in his eyes. "I suppose you will just need to wait and see," he said, smiling as the waiter returned with their wine.

Sara swallowed, not quite able to dispose of the shiver that was making its way up her spine.

* * *

She tasted chicken and white wine, that was all she could comprehend, all her senses would allow her to make sense of. She felt her back hit the door, her hands grappling at his shirt as his tongue dueled with hers, one of his hands caressing the skin below her bra as his other struggled with getting the card key into the slot. The door opened and they stumbled backwards the door closing behind them as they entered.

He dropped her purse, the car keys and his phone on a chair as they moved through the room. The back of her knees made contact with the bed and she landed unceremoniously onto the burgundy covers. His mouth left hers and she groaned as it traveled down her neck, a low hiss of pleasure erupting from her as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

It was too soon. Sara knew that. She knew he knew that. There was so much the two of them needed to discuss, to make clear, but years of pent up frustration wasn't going to allow their sensible sides to win at the moment. Somehow, he had divested her of her shirt and his fingers were working hard to do the same to her bra.

As his mouth moved lower down her body, she gasped and somewhere far away she could swear that she could hear ringing. Blinking, she focused on the sound and realized that it was Grissom's cell phone. "Phone," she murmured.

"I'm busy," he informed her and continued his ministrations, causing her to moan.

The ringing eventually stopped and his fingers moved to the button of her pants, quickly unbuttoning and unzippering them. As he removed her pants the ringing started again, this time accompanied by her phone as well. He groaned and looked up at her before moving away and grabbing his phone and her purse from the chair.

"Grissom," he barked as he answered, ready to enact a long verbal assault on whoever had called.

"Sorry to interrupt your playtime, Gil," Brass said amusement in his voice before he turned serious. "They're sentencing Doyle in two hours."

"Thanks, Jim," Grissom said and hung up the phone.

"It's about Doyle, isn't it?" Sara asked, removing her phone and checking the call log.

"There sentencing him in two hours," he replied. "We should be able to make it back in an hour."

She nodded, a blush creeping onto her as she realized her state of dress. "Could you, uh, get me that?" she asked, pointing to the bra that lay just beyond him.

Grissom picked up the silky fabric and groaned. "I really do hate that man," he murmured as he handed it to her.

Startling both herself and him, Sara brought her mouth crashing down on his, causing him to moan as her almost naked body rubbed against his. She broke free, leaving them both panting. "We will finish this later," she informed him with a smile, before gathering her clothes, and beginning the process of putting them back on.

"Detest, abhor, despise, loath him," Grissom whispered to himself.

* * *

Unlike at the time of his arraignment, the courtroom was packed. Sara and Grissom slipped in through the back, trying to wade through the frenzy of reporters and onlookers who flocked to high profile cases. Greg did a small wave to them from the bench behind the prosecutor's table and the two made their way over.

"Hey, Sara, Grissom," the younger man said in greeting before looking nervously at the two of them.

"He really did, Greg," Sara said, answering her friend's unspoken question.

"I can't believe it," he sighed, shaking his head.

"Hi guys," Nick greeted from behind them, causing the three to shift down the bench to give more room.

They watched as Nick, Warrick and Catherine squeezed onto the bench. Catherine leaned across the two men and smiled sweetly at Grissom. "We are going to talk after this," she hissed at him before turning her attention to the front of the courtroom.

Grissom groaned inwardly, not wanting to endure the woman's wrath. The hand of the woman beside him interlocked with his eased his discomfort, and he gave her a gentle squeeze of support, as the side door opened and Doyle was led inside. His eyes locked on the veterinarian's, no attempt at hiding the pure hatred he had for the man to shine through. Doyle disregarded his look, focusing his attention on Sara, smiling as his eyes took in her form. Her hand gripped his tighter and he stole a look at her, pleased by the steely gaze she settled on the other man.

Time moved quickly. Usually, it went slowly during a sentencing, never sure what punishment would be handed down, constantly worried about how the evidence affected the judge or jury's decision. This time it went by at warp speed and by the time Grissom was able to fully grasp all that had happened, Dr. Doyle was being led away to begin two consecutive life long sentences for the first degree murders of Christine McGraw and Kimberly Witt. He no longer looked like the pompous, disdainful man who had walked into the room. Instead, as he left he looked to be battered and broken, his illusionary strength dissipating around him.

The CSIs filed out of the courtroom, avoiding the blinding media attention that was trying to capture them. Eventually, they were in the back parking lot, standing around and congratulating one another on putting Doyle where he belonged. Grissom smiled at them, images of other times when they had been a team, his team, passing before him.

"So, you'll be telling Ecklie that this resignation business was just a foolish mistake now, Gil?" Catherine asked.

All eyes looked at him and he sighed. "No," he informed them.

"You can't seriously--" she said.

"I stand by my resignation, Catherine," he replied firmly.

"You are a very pigheaded man," she retorted.

"I don't want to work in an environment as boggled down by politics as mine has become," Grissom replied.

"You think you can honestly find a job that isn't muddied by politics?" she asked in disbelief.

"I want to try," he said.

Silence fell among the group, each wrapping their own thoughts around the idea of a lab without Grissom. '_Nothing would ever be the same,'_ Sara thought melancholically.

"It won't be the same without you," Greg remarked, hands in his pocket, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. "The lab needs its bugman."

"I knew this day would eventually come, but…" Nick said, his voice trailing off.

"They're going to realize what a mistake it was giving Ecklie the Assistant Director's position," Warrick remarked, shaking his head.

Catherine merely shook her head in acquiescence. "You are not allowed to become a stranger," she finally said, eyeing him pointedly. "None of this hiding away in your townhouse."

"We could get together once a week," Greg said enthusiastically. "Go to breakfast or ride the rides at New York!"

"Or something…" he continued as all eyes looked at him questioningly.

"It's a good idea, Greg," Sara assured him.

The young man beamed and Grissom struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. "We could start with it now," she continued. "We could all go get a pizza together."

"We have to get back to the lab," Catherine said, motioning to her, Nick and Warrick.

"I actually have a date," Greg informed them.

"A date?" Nick asked.

"Yeah," Greg replied. "You see Nick, when two people like each other--"

"Oh, ha ha ha," Nick drawled.

Simultaneously Nick, Warrick and Catherine's cell phones began ringing. "Duty calls," Warrick said.

"How about Sunday?" Nick asked. "We could all go for breakfast."

"Works for me," Catherine said. "As long as Lindsey can come."

"Of course, Cath," Warrick replied.

"We'll see you guys later," Nick said and nodded towards the others as he started towards the Denali.

"We'll come by your place after night shift is over on Sunday," Catherine said. "Make sure you actually come."

Warrick nodded towards Grissom before he and Catherine followed Nick. Greg looked sheepishly at the two remaining CSIs. "I have to go to," he said.

"Hot date," Sara commented, grinning.

"Yeah," Greg replied. "I'll see you at work in a few days, Sara, and I guess I'll see you on Sunday, Grissom."

"Apparently," Grissom grumbled under his breath.

"Have fun Greg," Sara called to the younger man.

"Do you really want to get pizza?" Grissom asked, looking over at her, intent on finishing what they had started a few hours ago, confident that she did also.

"All I really want right now is a bath," she informed him and began to walk towards her car.

"A bath?" he asked.

"Mhm, you fill a tub with water and some bubble bath," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "I've wanted one for ages."

Grissom looked at her, confusion evident in his face. Perhaps she didn't want to continue what had begun in Pahrump.

"Don't you have a big Jacuzzi bath at your townhouse?" she asked as she unlocked the door to her car.

Grissom blinked, her sentence playing over and over again in his mind a few times before he understood what she was implying. "Why yes I do, Ms. Sidle," he replied with a feral grin.

She moved to open the car door but stopped. "We still have a lot that we're going to need to discuss, Grissom," she told him seriously.

"I know, Sara," he said moving to stand in front of her. "But I meant what I said back in the coffee shop."

"Oh?"

"I really do want to discover what to do about this," he said and motioned between them.

He was answered with one of her full blown smiles. "What are we waiting for?" she asked and opened the door.

As she started to drive them towards his townhouse, her smile grew as she realized that for once her happiness wasn't an illusion.

End.


End file.
